


Pride, Prejudice and Rocketships

by edenkings



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Thunderbirds
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenkings/pseuds/edenkings
Summary: A fusion fic:The Tracy brothers? Who are they? Meet the Bennet Sisters, a team of international rescuers in fantastic machines, kicking ass, saving the world, and occasionally splurging up heaps on shopping sprees (though that's mainly Lydia). Things get awkward when they rescue the rich (and incredibly good looking) Darcy and Bingley party from a fire. What's Jane supposed to say, when Charlie Bingley asks her out? Could it risk the Bennets' greatest secret?Featuring Lady Catherine de Bourgh in the role of Lady Penelope, a whole lot of misunderstandings, and a few three AM rescues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a call for rescue from those with a dire need would be answered post-haste by those brave men of International Rescue, and their magnificent machines.

Indeed, the band of sodden sailors huddling precariously on the deck of the _Sophie May_ stared up at their saviour, the howling of Thunderbird One’s ramjet engines as she surveyed the scene of destruction barely audible over the sound of the hurricane. The call had gone out just twenty minutes before – yet here she was, hovering still despite the gale force winds and driving rain, spotlights unerringly trained on the ship’s crew as they hung on for dear life, the waves pounding their stricken ship. Hurricane Rachel had intensified far more rapidly than the forecasters had predicted and the _Sophie May_ had been caught up, unable to outrun the monstrous storm. The ship had taken a wave broadside, and near-capsized. The pumps were unable to keep up with the relentless waves, and a damaged porthole sent a steady stream of water down into the lower decks. The _Sophie May_ was in real danger of sinking, and in this storm, no sailor wanted to take their chances on the open water.

From the cockpit of Thunderbird One, International Rescue’s field commander surveyed the scene with an experienced eye. Of course, Lizzie thought, no one would imagine that those magnificent men were not men at all. Pressing the PTT on the stick, she spoke, “Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One. What’s your ETA, Mary?”

“One, Two. Eight minutes, fourteen seconds out, Commander.” Mary Bennet was Lizzie’s next-youngest sister. Precise and careful, she was the best choice of pilot for IR’s workhorse Thunderbird Two. With her were their youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia. For this rescue, both would be needed. Eyeing the scene, she explained the plan. Thunderbird One was the fastest private aircraft ever built. Lizzie’s job as the first one on scene and as field commander was to plan the rescue before Thunderbird Two and the rescue equipment contained within her pods arrived, ensuring the quickest and safest rescue.

“Lydia, you’re in the basket. Twelve crew, three runs. Kitty, you’re on the winch, and you’ll need a spare line gun or two in case one goes over the side.”

On Thunderbird Two, Lydia and Kitty were in the bowels of the mighty green aircraft, and they’d anticipated their sister’s plan to the point where they were nearly complete in the task of readying the rescue basket.

“Oh, I hate water rescues,” Lydia moaned to her sister, checking very carefully that she was not broadcasting. Complaints on the open comms usually meant she’d get the worst of the clean-up chores when they returned to base.

“You’ve done, what, two before?” said Kitty in reply. Indeed Lydia had only recently graduated to full mission status early in the spring, having just turned 18. Their father had been adamant that they would be adults, making adult decisions to join IR, or not. Four months on, Lydia had a dozen rescues now under her belt, but the novelty had yet to wear off. Indeed, Lydia’s enthusiasm was beginning to look like overconfidence. Her sisters had been through this before however – the first injury, or the first unsuccessful rescue usually lead to a healthy readjustment in mindset.

Kitty, the fourth daughter in the family, was twenty and a two year veteran in rescues. She had undertaken the most training of the sisters in medicine – and had multiple first-aid certifications to her credit – and thus was usually tasked in ways that would allow her to respond to medical events. In other words, Lydia fetched, but Kitty checked them over.

“La!” Lydia dismissed this truth with a flick of her hair before she tucked it into a waterproof cap, “it’s enough to know.”

Kitty sighed in resigned agreement, arguing with Lydia was a near-impossibility, best only attempted by Lizzie, their father, or their Aunt Gardiner.

“Mary,” she said, on the open comms, “We’re ready to go down here.”

“Roger that, Op Three, we’re now approaching the zone.” Mary’s voice came back in reply, “On site in thirty seconds.”

Kitty keyed the mic twice to acknowledge, and then stepped back to the winch controller.

“Saddle up!” said Lydia gleefully, as she leapt into the basket, clipping first one, and then her second carabiner to the basket itself. Both girls slipped their helmets on, Lydia adjusting the lights in preparation for the darkness outside in the storm.

They could feel the deceleration as the massive craft slowed. Up on the flight deck, Mary peered out the front windows, trying to spot Thunderbird One in the gloom. Radar showed only a few hundred meters, but she could not yet make out One, or the ship. Lizzie, of course, would have all the lights on, including One’s powerful searchlights.

_Ah, there_. Mary guided Two closer, mindful of her craft’s enormous presence, and the downwash she generated with the powerful VTOL engines. Even in this storm, so close to the top of the waves, she kicked up enough spray to be complicate a rescue.

The ship, the _Sophie May_ was listing badly. “Looks like this one will be a pain,” Kitty said. Down in the hold, they had watched Two’s arrival on scene on their helmets’ video display. Two had received from One all the information that the computers had gathered so far, and it wasn’t great news.

Indeed, the deck was now steeply angled, there was no way any of the sailors could move from their current position to a rescue basket in order to climb aboard, no, they’d be more likely to slip off, or be washed off by a wave. Far too risky.

“Rescue lines?” asked Lydia.

After a short pause, they had their reply. “Rescue lines,” Lizzie agreed. They did not like to use the lines, in any but the direst of circumstances. The lines fired out of the basket, wrapping around their target and forming as much of a harness as they might, so that a person might be lifted up and away. The impact of a line was violent, and often left bruises; being lifted by the makeshift harness was uncomfortable at best. Each of the sisters had experienced it as a part of their training, and none had volunteered to try again.

“Alright,” said Lydia, “Doors open.”

Under Two’s belly, two small doors popped open, just large enough for a bright yellow rescue basket to slowly descend on a winch. Lydia, the lone figure inside, directed her next-eldest sister, who slowly lowered the basket towards the heaving seas. Ten metre swells in all directions, the constant rain and fierce winds meant water everywhere. If not for her insulated suit, Lydia would have been soaked in seconds.

As she neared the stricken ship she set the computer to target the sailors – eight, she noted. She’d have to wait for the swells to align just right for a good shot. Jane, also watching the feed from her post on Thunderbird Five, announced in a troubled voice over the open comm. frequency that the crew manifest only stated seven sailors on board.

“That’s odd,” agreed Lizzie, “Any more live’uns on the thermals?”

Before Jane could reply, an alarm sounded shrilly over the comm., sending them all into high alert. “Rogue wave!” Jane announced.

“Hold on!” Lizzie shouted.

Lydia swore as out of the darkness a wall of water approached. On the flight decks of both Thunderbirds, the sentiment was echoed. With no time to retract the winch, Kitty in the bowels of Two could only slam on the emergency brakes. Lydia caught a glimpse of the black, seething wave as she ducked behind the lip of the basket, twenty, maybe twenty-five metres. Not enough to hit the ‘birds - she had no doubt One could get out of dodge, but Two was a little slower, especially with dangling cargo – but certainly enough to give her a dunking.

The force of it slammed into the basket, knocking Lydia into the rail, then yanking her back the other way against her tethers. Everything was water, noise, disorientation, and then she was swinging free again in open air. Gasping, she found her feet, her hands grabbing at the rail. Small gas thrusters had bought the basket’s wild swinging under control, and she no longer felt like she was on the world’s worst rollercoaster.

Lydia pulled herself upright. “Shit!” she exclaimed. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Gingerly shaking out her hands, her feet Lydia took stock. Everything seemed to be working ok, though cold water had seeped in down her collar, and was in her boots, and her gloves.

“Are you sure, Op Four,” Lizzie was using her command voice, and Lydia almost rolled her eyes.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she replied in sisterly exasperation.

The _Sophie May_ was not. Now de-masted, the ship’s stern was completely underwater. All eight people were still miraculously accounted for, though two had been swept from their spots to another railing. If they were entangled, the rescue lines could mean injuries – but no, she could see them moving again, limbs appearing to be free from the rails. Shaking herself, Lydia focused back on the targeting computer as she waited for Kitty to lower the basket just a little further. Waiting for a slightly less choppy moment was hard, took keen judgement – there! She slammed the fire button.

Underneath the basket, the lines fired out, wrapping around the crew. She paused a moment, the sailors freed themselves of their grips on their ship as Lydia watched. Then, another wave heaved the _Sophie May_ , dropped her again, the sailors all lifting free into midair as the deck fell away beneath them. Lydia, peering down at her captive cluster of bodies, felt the vibration of the winch lifting, and could feel the rumble, and the downwash as Mary commanded Two to slowly climb away from the heaving sea. Relief! She had them all.

The bay doors were a welcome sight, providing the first shelter from the bitterly cold sea spray. Then, they were inside, the basket lifting high into the bay, Kitty closing the doors underneath the sodden men. The reassuring thunk of the door locks replaced the howling winds. “All clear!” Kitty reported.

Lydia commanded the rescue lines to retract, and their eight rescuees slumped to the floor. Another command had the winch assembly retract towards the wall of the bay, and once the basket was sufficiently clear, Lydia lowered it, then climbed free. Kitty had already begun triage, and was shepherding those who were more mobile into the med bay. “Op Four, the priority is the wet gear and a hypothermia check.”

“Yes, Op Three.” First aid sucked in Lydia’s opinion, because it was either thoroughly unexciting or thoroughly gross. Mostly for water rescues it was helping their rescuees strip their sodden gear off, wrapping them in heated blankets and giving warm fluids – the unexciting type. Still she joined in, undoing zippers and buttons where frozen hands couldn’t, easing off clammy neoprene immersion suits that only reluctantly let go of their wearer.

“Honolulu in two minutes,” Mary reported over the P.A., as they moved on to feeding, watering and checking over. The woman Lydia was getting a temperature on sighed in relief. Being aboard Thunderbird Two was a sight better than a sinking ship, but that didn’t mean this lady hadn’t moaned in distress and grabbed at her every time they hit a bit of turbulence. Presumably, Lydia thought, they were to land at the Tripler Army Hospital, which was their usual drop-off for Honolulu. Indeed, as they approached, out of the massive front windows, Mary could see their usual spot was set up with a cordon, and four waiting ambulances. Jane was good at what she did, that was undeniable.

Kitty collected the damp, blanket-wrapped group and led them out one of the smaller side hatches, where the medical teams were waiting. Lydia, left behind for a final check over and to watch for stowaways, bagged their wet gear and handed it out of the hatch to one of the paramedics. It wasn’t exactly anyone’s personal gear, only immersion suits and the like, but they’d discovered a long time ago that people got weird about things like that.

 She would have stayed to watch, but having older sisters was the worst, because Lizzie, hovering overhead in One admonished her youngest sister to get into some dry gear herself. It wasn’t like Kitty couldn’t do all the handover.

One of the emergency medicine doctors, Paul Masters greeted Kitty, “Hi there, Op Three, presumably?”

“Hi, Paul. Hypothermic, but not severe, as far as I can tell.” They all liked Paul – they’d worked together a number of times, most recently when Haleakalā volcano had erupted eight months previous.

“Well folks,” Paul continued, addressing the sailors, “Three here has been nice enough to drop you off with us, we’ll get you sorted out now.”

Kitty waved goodbye at the group before returning to Two. By the time she had climbed back up to the cockpit Lydia was there, lounging in the co-pilots’ chair. Stowing her helmet in the locker behind Two’s cockpit, she rousted her younger sister and claimed the seat for herself. Lydia pulled a face at her elder sister but handed her the thermos of tea she was sipping on, and half a chocolate bar.

Mary smirked at their antics. “We’re twenty minutes from home,” she told Kitty.

“Oh, good.” Kitty replied around a mouthful of chocolate.

“Mmmhmm,” Lydia agreed, “I so need a shower. Still,” she said, perched in the navigator’s seat, “Good rescue.”

Lizzie, flying alongside, Thunderbird One’s silver and blue hull gleaming in the light, agreed. It was a good feeling when you could go home, job done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Debriefing was a necessary part of the job – all the sisters knew that. How could they learn from their rescues if they didn’t talk about what went wrong, and what went right? It was one of the few things that they could be sure of when they returned from a rescue. Well, that and the fact that their Aunt Phillips would always be there waiting as they returned with food and drinks – warm ones to combat the cold water and wind this time despite it being near-midsummer on the Island.

They had set down a limit many years ago – twenty minutes to shower and clean themselves up before the debrief only, unless there was an injury. Or unless it was a multi-day rescue, where they hadn’t slept. Otherwise the worst chores would be assigned to the worst late offender.

In truth, there wasn’t _that_ much to do – the cleaning of most of the craft, both inside and out, was covered by Uncle Gardiner’s fleets of super-roombas, as they had been dubbed by Lydia after their first few trial runs. The super-roombas could climb walls and roll along ceilings. Some could fit through ducts, and clean the vents and filters. Others cleaned off salt, soot and ash, and could repair minor damage to the paintwork. The fleets were capable of cleaning both One and Two completely in five-and-a-half hours.

 Aunt and Uncle Gardiner did most of the maintenance and servicing, too. Any problems with the engines, or avionics, were handled during the breaks between rescues. Aunt Phillips, assisted by Mary and Kitty, fixed their uniforms and helmets, of which there were many spares – but they all needed to be checked monthly too. Really, the worst jobs were cleaning off their equipment – line guns, and the rescue basket this time – and restocking. They went through hundreds of blankets a year, masks too, usually a few dozen stretchers, and of course, the medical kits, which were  exclusively Kitty’s domain.

Which was why Lydia, two minutes late to their father’s office, received little sympathy from her sisters.

“But I always have to clean up!” She moaned, “It’s not fair!”

Mary snorted and rolled her eyes. “If you weren’t always late...”

“But it’s only two minutes, I don’t see why...”

“Punctuality is the...”

Lydia groaned and interrupted Mary, “Oh, please spare me the homily, Mary!”

Their father cleared his throat meaningfully, and Lydia subsided, muttering. “Lizzie,” he said, bestowing a smile on his second daughter, “What say you.”

Lizzie, who was perched on the sofa nearest her father’s desk grinned teasingly, “About Lydia’s lateness?”

“My dear, I believe I have heard all that needs to be heard on the subject, no matter how much you might wish to tell me more,” her father replied, “But I think we have other matters of importance at hand, to wit, your day!”

“A fairly typical water rescue, Papa,” Lizzie said, with little by way of repentance. “Single ship, crew in single digits, all rescued, though presumably the ship itself is a total loss. No major injuries to anyone, and no damage to our equipment. One found the gusts a little difficult, but it was nothing outside the ordinary.”

“Excellent!” Bennet steepled his hands beneath his chin, and looked at his other daughters. “Anything your sister hasn’t mentioned?”

“No, sir,” said Mary, who always answered second. “Two performed well despite the conditions also.”

“There was a change from lift-in-basket to lift-via-rescue-lines,” Kitty said, “which meant a little more damage to our rescuees, but under the circumstances I don’t think we could have made three lifts in the time we had, and the larger basket would have been difficult to manoeuvre in the conditions.”

Lydia nodded in agreement. “I think it was best under the circumstances.”

“What went well?” Their father asked, as per his usual script. “And what didn’t?”

“I think we have adjusted now to Lydia’s addition, Papa,” Lizzie said thoughtfully. “And she’s anticipating more, which is excellent. On the other hand the rogue wave was a bit of a scare, and something we could do without.”

“I don’t think we could have increased our prediction margin, Lizzie,” Jane interjected softly.

Lizzie frowned. “Kitty did well to engage the emergency stop, and also triage was quicker than usual.”

“We’re still on good terms with the team at Tripler,” Kitty reported.

Jane agreed with this, “They were happy to help, and Honolulu gladly cleared airspace,” she said.

“Anything unusual?” was always the last question.

The ground-side sisters shook their heads.

Jane, however, frowned from the screen.”Something about this isn’t quite right. I’ve just had a report that one of the sailors has disappeared from the hospital. It’s our unexpected man, the one who wasn’t on the crew manifest,” she said.

“That is strange,” Mary agreed. “Why would anyone disappear? He doesn’t have any documents, where would he go?”

 “The port authority is usually pretty good at picking up stowaways, so I don’t think that’s the case, but now that he’s disappeared I really do think something is up.” Jane said, “I thought I recognised him from somewhere. I’ve only managed to get a partial facial shot but nothing’s coming up in the database. There’s nothing else I can find that’s... off about the ship, Papa.

“Hmm,” said Bennet, as he mused, chin in hand. “I’ll have Lady C contact the authorities and see what she can find out.”

Jane nodded.

“Report on my desk as usual by the end of the week, Lizzie. Now girls, please get some rest.”

\--

The family had gathered for dinner later that evening, the sunset streaking red across the sky. Aunt Phillips, their housekeeper, bustled around the table, coaxing another serving onto plates and ignoring protestations of inability to eat such quantities. Aunt Phillips had practically raised the Bennet girls following the death of their mother shortly following their youngest sister’s birth.

“I’ll never get the salt out of my hair,” moaned Lydia, “I’ve already had three showers, and look!” She brandished a hank of blonde curls to whomever she thought was interested.

The computer chirped on cue, and the eldest Bennet sister’s smiling face appeared on screen. Aunt Phillips always insisted that the Bennet Island family, all of them, eat at least one meal together each day – even if they weren’t on the Island. Even if, as it happened, they weren’t on Earth at all. Jane was the eyes and ears of International Rescue, the operator of Thunderbird Five, a space station orbiting the globe at an altitude of six hundred kilometres, and an array of secondary satellites. It was this network which allowed for near real-time communication – the ground-bound Bennets on the island, and their sister in space, currently somewhere over Morocco.

Mr Phillips appeared with the Gardiners to fill the empty seats at the table, each greeting Jane as they sat. Mr Phillips aided his wife in the running of the Bennet household, and Mr Bennet in his business. A lawyer by trade and training, he had retired from his business some ten years ago following an assassination attempt. Bennet Island afforded the luxury of an island lifestyle, far from the dangerous enemies a high-profile lawyer could make, and his association with Mr Bennet allowed him to keep his hand in, so to speak, with the law.

The Gardiners were also Aunt and Uncle to the Bennet sisters. Edward Gardiner was brother to the late Frances Bennet, and Madeline was his wife. Edward had been something of a child prodigy, finishing high school at just twelve, and following this, had attended both MIT and Cambridge to earn a number of degrees, from engineering to aeronautics, medicine to mechanics. Younger than both of his sisters, he had been much cosseted by them as a boy, and adored them in return. The untimely death of Frances Gardiner Bennet at the age of thirty-five, had struck the whole family hard, but it had bought them all closer. This, in many ways, had been the catalyst that had allowed the pairing of Bennet’s immense financial resource, and the Gardiners spectacular technical wizardry, to bring International Rescue alive.

Madeline Gardiner was ten years younger than her husband, but no less accomplished. Another child prodigy, she had been fourteen at the completion of her high school studies, but earned her first degree that same year, having concurrently taken classes for some time. This, being a whole year younger than her husband, was fodder for a great deal of teasing between them. Madeline had been considerably more focused in her choice of study, insofar as confining her degrees to engineering – electrical, mechanical, space and aerospace, marine.... in truth, she was just as well read as her husband, but on gaining her second Ph.D, had decided to focus more on her children, of which there were four, and her research – plus of course the ongoing needs of International Rescue, than gaining further academic honors.

The Gardiner children, twin girls, aged eight, and two boys, aged six and five respectively, completed the family. All were resident on Bennet Island, and, while intelligent children, polite and engaging, none had the extraordinary intellect and drive of their parents. Their future goals revolved around the pilots’ chairs of the Thunderbirds in the footsteps of their Bennet cousins. Which Thunderbird, of course, would change on a day-to-day basis as is usual of the future plans of most small children.

At the present moment, those children were happily engaged in telling their parents, and Jane, who was a favourite of theirs, about the day they had had, and the content of their lessons. Aunt and Uncle Phillips usually superintended the children’s classes, freeing the Gardiner parents for their work with IR.

Jane, eating one of Aunt Phillips’ specially prepared frozen meals, beamed down at Sally, the elder of the twins (by oft-reminded five minutes _only_ ), and explained how hurricanes formed. Many of the children’s lessons revolved around their elder cousins exploits.

Lydia was still occupied with complaining to Kitty, who was the only one listening, about the damage done to her hair from her inadvertent dunking. Mary was engaged in talking with their father and Uncle Gardiner about the latest edition of their mobile phone operating system – the system that, while it had not made Bennet’s fortune, had certainly kept it in the uncertain IT age.

Aunt Gardiner took over the conversation with her children, directing it away from storms, and towards the eating of dinner like well-behaved children, not hooligans.

Lizzie smiled around a forkful of Aunt Phillips’ seafood bake. Their family was a little bit unorthodox, to be sure, but she was lucky to have them. She grinned as their father, finally fed up with Lydia, imposed a change in topic, before engaging her elder sister in a discussion about their plans for Jane’s next rotation back to Earth, in just ten days time.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The siren went, as it was wont to do, at five in the morning. Lizzie hauled herself out of bed, not bothering to throw anything over her nightgown as she made for the stairs that would take her to her father’s office – also secretly, the command and control centre of International Rescue.

Behind her, on the stairs, Lydia and Kitty moaned about the early hour – but both quickly silenced themselves as they entered their father’s sanctum. Mary was already present, listening to the report from Jane – a fire at a secluded and exclusive resort in the Rockies. The blaze had started in the kitchen, and had quickly spread. The propane tanks had been engulfed, and the explosion had brought down a rockfall. Twenty people in the building’s west wing were feared trapped, and were at risk from the fire and the smoke. Local authorities were more than an hour away. The Thunderbirds could be there in twenty-five minutes.

Mr Bennet listened solemnly to his eldest daughter, silent even as Aunt Phillips fussed about her nieces, bearing breakfast and hot coffee. He nodded once. “Then we shall,” he turned to his remaining daughters, “Take the Firefly, my dears, and of course, be careful!”

Eyes twinkling, Lizzie swallowed one last mouthful of banana muffin, washed down with the dregs of her coffee. “We always do, Papa,” she said. “Jane, can you have the resort’s schematics and the surrounding area’s photos and topography to the ‘Birds’ computers.”

“They’ll be there before you launch, Lizzie,” came back the soft voice of Jane Bennet.

Mary nodded sharply, and was on her way to the bookcase which concealed the entrance to Thunderbird Two’s hangar, Lydia and Kitty behind her. Lizzie made her way to the opposite wall, with its own bookcase – but this concealed entrance was for Thunderbird One’s pilot.

True to her word, Jane had finished the upload of information before Lizzie had finished her preflight. Not ten minutes after the first note of the siren, Thunderbird One roared out of her hangar and into the dawn sky. Setting the autopilot, Lizzie read.

Jane, always helpful, had slipped into the Sweetmeadow Resort’s computers. The schematic showed no obvious surprises – all the high-end places seemed the same, the only thing that changed was the exorbitant grandeur of their decorating. Lizzie briefly scanned the guest list and staffing roster – some 84 people potentially in need of rescue. Jane had also contacted air traffic control and had provided flightplans to the nearest hospitals, and first on the list was the regional burns centre... Jane was like that.

True to prediction, twenty four minutes and forty seconds after the siren, Thunderbird One decelerated into the Sweetmeadow valley. Smoke billowed from the resort, as a small group of people stumbled away, down the access road. Thunderbird One’s surveillance system automatically photographed each, matching them to the record from the guest list and cataloguing any obvious signs of injury. None flagged, and Lizzie ignored the twelve individuals frantically waving in her direction. She had little sympathy for those who would not stay and help those in greater need.

The west wing was indeed still in flames – that which was not crushed and covered by boulders the size of cars. Milling around the front of the U-shaped resort were another forty-seven individuals – no, fifty, One told her, as two men supporting another, all wearing soot-streaked white shirts and black slacks rushed out the front door.

Sixty-two accounted for, thought Lizzie as she assessed the scene. She fired up One’s infrared cameras. Able to see through walls, the powerful cameras could spot a person from five miles away. They were useless for the burning west-wing, but could tell her about anyone remaining in the central areas or east wings of the building. Another seven people... and two dogs, was the tally.

Fifteen unaccounted for, then, at least according to the guest list.

“ETA, Thunderbird Two?” She radioed her sister.

“Six minutes twenty five,” her sister radioed back. “Lydia’s already in the Firefly and Kitty has the mobile triage in the pod and ready to go.”

Lizzie didn’t like rescues like this. Too many variables.

She directed Mary to the best landing sites, and set One down in the rear carpark. Grabbing her helmet, she stepped onto the lift-platform, which winched her down to the gravel. On the ground, a group of staff milled around the biggest man she’d ever seen, who boomed out orders and scrawled on a clipboard as she approached.

The crowd parted before her – something about the uniform had that effect - and the giant looked up, heaving a relieved sigh.

“Bob Hager,” he said, proffering a hand.

Lizzie took it, “You can call me One,” she said, pulling an unseen face inside the helmet as her voice distorted through its speakers. “Are you in charge here?”

“Yessir,” said Hager, motioning her in the direction of the congregation of people on the expertly manicured front lawn, “Director of the Resort. We’re missing six people from the West Wing. Their rooms were under that rockpile. We got lucky – whole bunch from that wing out on a nature tour. It’s the Darcy party we can’t find. My people are clearing out the rest of the building. Couple of bad injuries – burns mostly for the kitchen guys caught in the explosion. Mark’s in a bad way, and Jose too.”

Lizzie liked this man – competent and thorough. Six missing individuals was a sight better than fifteen.

Hager bent down by a badly burned man – the one she’d seen before, carried out by the others, she realised. His friends were carefully arranging him on a stretcher, moving as gently as possible, but still, his fragile, burnt skin pulled away at the slightest brush. Beyond him, three others, two men and a woman, lay similarly on stretchers, burned raw and crying from the pain. A dozen others were gathered in the area, broken bones, bloody wounds, burns and bruises evident.

Lizzie exhaled forcefully, fighting back bile. You never, ever got used to the sight and the smell of it. Pressing her comm-button, she passed on the information  to her sisters.

“Thunderbird Two, we’ll need a dousing on the main building, and then after landing go to idle. We’ve got four case ones, and a dozen case two and threes. You’ll need to casevac to the burns hospital. Kitty’s triage with you. Lydia’s with me on the ground.”

“Go to idle for casevac to Springfield Hospital,” Mary read back.

Ever efficient, Jane chimed in with, “On the line to Springfield now – air traffic is diverted and they’ll be expecting you.”

“Thanks, Five.” Lizzie said. Switching back to external comms, Lizzie explained the plan to Hager, “We’ll casevac your injured and the medics to Springfield General,” She said. “Just those – anyone not injured can wait for the local LEO.”

Hager nodded. “Hear that, Mark. You’re getting a ride on a Thunderbird.” With a gentleness Lizzie had not expected for his size, the man stroked Mark’s unburnt forehead. The man looked up and smiled weakly. “You’ll have a story for your grandkids there, my friend.”

Thunderbird Two announced her arrival with a roar. Hovering a hundred metres above the resort, Mary allowed herself a small smile as she opened the douse valves. Fuelling Thunderbird Two’s eight main engines took enough fuel to run a small lake, all contained within massive tanks in One’s aft. To balance the pitch moment of the mighty craft for long, straight transit flights, four massive tanks of ballast water filled her front. As the valves opened, thousands of litres of water mixed with flame retardant rained down upon the stricken resort, extinguishing the main fire.

Inside Thunderbird Two, the massive control computers compensated for the shift in the craft’s centre of gravity, increasing thrust from one VTOL here, and decreasing thrust from another there. In the cockpit, Mary watched the ballast tank indicators drop to zero. _An inexperienced pilot wouldn’t notice the difference_ , she mused as she landed with pinpoint accuracy, _but I can_. They’d have to refill the tanks before the flight back to Bennet Island, but the short hop to Springfield wouldn’t overly tax Two.

On the ground, Lizzie watched with satisfaction as the obvious flames went out, and the choking smoke began to disperse. _This_ was a sight not seen anywhere else on earth, and from the noises of awe around her, the crowd agreed.

Patching her wristcomputer into the infrared cameras from Thunderbirds One and Two, Lizzie noted that the main fire was indeed out, with a few hotspots remaining. One’s supercomputer had also finished crunching the numbers on the area crushed by the rockfall – the good news was that there was a 80% chance of a protected pocket underneath some of the rubble. The bad news was that everywhere else was predicted to be unsurvivable.

Lydia drove free of Thunderbird Two’s immense bulk in the firefly, while Kitty and the resort staff’s medical personnel began the process of moving the injured into the cargo pod. Kitty was showing the medics IR’s special burns gel – sprayed onto the skin, the antiseptic, numbing gel formed a temporary barrier against the environment. While not as good as human skin, it was the best that could be done until the burns specialists could get in and do their work.

Quickly turning to Hager, she requested that the crowd be kept back from the two operatives working on the rockfall site. Hager nodded, and set some of his calmer staff to keep the group from moving from the front lawn.

Lizzie climbed into the firefly’s turret as Thunderbird Two lifted off from the meadow. This Firefly, the Mark Four, was a distinct improvement on the original Firefly. That machine had only sprayed fire suppressant foam from two sprayers controlled from an open platform on the top of the vehicle. A forest fire had taught them to protect the sprayer’s operator, leading to the Mark Two’s enclosed turret. Mark Three had come along following a city fire, where they had sorely wished for the ability to bulldoze rubble out of the way. The Mark four had refined the Three’s design, and had added four spear-gun like attachments. The drill-tip heads attached to long cables, which could be fired at any target. The diamond tips drilled in and stabilised themselves in the chosen object, which could be winched out of the way, or, failing that, pulled away with the massive torque of the Firefly’s engine.

It was this that Lizzie planned to use. The side of the building that was furthest from the rockfall, while still covered with boulders, had smaller ones to contend with. The computers had calculated that the survivable pocket might be reachable if three specific boulders were removed.

The information that had downloaded to Lizzie’s wristpad had also unfolded into diagrams and targeting solutions in the firefly’s driver’s cockpit and turret. Lydia, with no words between them, had driven to exactly the spot Lizzie needed. Not for the first time, Lizzie paused briefly in thanks for the genius of her Gardiner aunt and uncle – without such amazing computer programs, they would be going in blind.

Selecting the bracers, double-ended drills with wire between, she fired off eight, just so, to stabilise the rubble pile above and behind their chosen worksite. Switching to the winch-guns, she fired off two into the first, uppermost boulder.

A chime indicated the drillbits had seated themselves deep in the rock. Lydia, in the driver’s seat, slipped the Firefly into reverse, the powerful engine dragging the first rock free of its companions, away from the shattered building. Again, they repeated the cycle, Lizzie targeting the rocks, and Lydia dragging them free.

The Firefly’s infra-red cameras peered through the small gap they’d made in the rockfall. At least one heat signature was visible in what remained of the west-wing. And even better – a few smouldering hotspots indicated, but no repeat of the blazing fire Mary in Two had doused earlier.

Lizzie and Lydia were perhaps the most alike of the Bennet sisters, both in looks and in temperament. Though Lydia would have complained that Lizzie was so very stuffy, bossy and rule-abiding (though not such a stickler as Mary), and Lizzie had lamented on more than one occasion her little sister’s silliness and obsession for the latest reality TV star, both would ruefully agree with the assessment. On the job, however, there was almost no need for a word between them.

The sisters stepped free of the machine, wearing the fire rescue packs Aunt Gardiner had designed following the devastating Manila fire a year before. A pressurised bladder attached to a spray nozzle contained enough fire-retardant chemical for two minutes of use. A cooling loop around the wearer’s torso kept the body cool, while an oxygen pack allowed for clean, breathable air. Spare masks were stored in one compartment for any rescuees. The masks contained infra-red and limited vision x-ray cameras, for the wearer to see both victims and potential hotspots. Numerous other compartments attached to the sides and back, containing a plethora of tools. Even better, the whole system was supported by two anti-grav gennys, so, while it massed some ninety pounds, the wearer only felt the weight of ten.

As they approached the gap in the rockfall, the cameras on both Lizzie and Lydia’s helmets constantly updated and refined the schematic the Birds’ supercomputers were crunching. Jane, in Five, updated them on the situation. “Thunderbird Two has offloaded the casualties at Springfield General. She’ll lift again to return to site in approximately three minutes. Two would like to divert to Fisher Lake to refill the ballast tanks in case another fire breaks out. It would delay the return to site by six minutes.”

Lizzie agreed with Mary’s plan, and received the acknowledgement from her sister, “Can I also request, Kitty, if there’s no one on the main lawn in need of your attention, can you be available at the Firefly when TB2 returns, I expect possible crush or burn injuries to anyone rescued from the west wing site.”

Kitty voiced her agreement and Jane added, “Lizzie, from the look of it, the missing group were staying in two suites slightly to the left of your current position – one on the near side of the building and one on the far side. There are three women, two early twenties, one late teens, and three men, all mid-late twenties. Records say all able-bodied.”

Lizzie hauled herself up onto the rockfall, reaching a hand behind her to steady Lydia as she followed. From here, she surveyed the ruined building. A wide balcony in front of the room had half-collapsed, the roof forced downwards by the weight of granite, crushing the exquisite furniture. The glass doors had shattered, scattering fragments onto the polished tiles, and the sumptuous carpet.

From this close, the microphones on her helmet could easily pick up the distressed cries of at least two individuals, as Jane had predicted, to the left of this palatial bedroom.

The balcony next door had been completely obliterated – no access there. “Through the wall, I think,” Lydia suggested.

“Hmm,” Lizzie agreed.

As they cautiously moved into the room, the source of the crying had been triangulated to the bathroom of the neighbouring suite. Lydia surveyed the wall with a practiced eye. Bathrooms were messy, lots of wiring and piping and thicker insulation. The hallway adjacent, however, had little in the way of such obstructions, and was also, Lizzie noted on the x-ray cam, free of obstructions behind.

The roof groaned as the rockfall shifted slightly. Eyeing the ceiling with unease, the sisters got to work. Lizzie marked out the weightbearing beams within the wall, as Lydia assembled the high-powered laser-saw. Stepping back, Lizzie watched her sister cut through the clear space as if cutting through butter with a hot knife. Attaching a suction hand hold, Lizzie yanked the square of drywall out of its hole, dropping it to the floor.

Peering through the gap into the darkness, Lizzie could make out the faint light from a cellphone in the bathroom. The sound of crying had also got louder – promising. If there was crying, the victim was conscious, and conscious was usually a good sign. “International Rescue,” she called into the darkness.

Abruptly the crying stopped, and two identical faces peered around the doorway, gaping. Lizzie stepped through the gap, activating a chem-light, which she stuck to the wall. “The Bingley sisters,” Jane quietly announced in Lizzie’s ear. Both looked uninjured, and so Lizzie helped them to their feet, and directed them through the gap.

Over their speechlessness, the sisters gabbled over each other about the remaining members of their group, and indeed whatever else came to mind, “They had just left,” “In the hallway,” “Heard Rick earlier,” “Don’t know why Charlie brought us here!” “Poor Georgie was on the piano,” “Don’t know where the Darcy’s are!” “All my things are ruined!” “Oh, I’m going to get my brother to sue this awful place!” “Well, why aren’t you doing anything, get us out of here!” “Oh, and our brother too!”

Grimacing, Lizzie directed them through the hole in the wall to Lydia, who was, no doubt, wearing a matching grimace. Lydia would see them out through the balcony exit and down to Hager on the lawn. Lizzie herself, turned back to the bathroom, clearing it. The HUD in her visor informed her that the hallway lead out to a door to the main corridor. Jane’s voice chipped in, calmly announcing Two’s return to site. Gingerly, Lizzie eased along, and one of the walls had caved into the hallway. Above her, water dripped from a massive boulder – this one had to be truck sized – that had smashed through the roof, snapping beams of wood as thick as a man on its way. To her left, it rested on the floor – anyone caught under it was surely crushed.

The suite’s doorway had jammed shut as the boulder had smashed through and warped the surrounding walls. Lizzie glanced at it, and decided that ‘through’ was again the best option. The supercomputers agreed, and Lizzie took the smaller, handheld laser-cutter to the hinges and lock. Freed of its restraints, the door dropped backwards into the hallway.

More voices, Lizzie noted, as she scanned the small area of visible hallway, and let the computers calculate the hazards. Male this time, however. Another chem-light flared into life behind Lizzie’s shoulder as Lydia returned from her task. The scent of smoke was stronger here.

With no major pressing hazards ID’d, the sisters stepped into the hallway.

“International Rescue!” Lydia called out.

“Over here!” “This way!” “Help us!” Three voices called out, tripping over each other. The three missing men, then. They were inside the opposite suite, as predicted.

The first poked his head around the hallway, blinking in the sudden light. He was handsome, thought Lizzie, at least, he would be if he wasn’t soot streaked and dusty. A cut on his forehead bled sluggishly. Otherwise uninjured, which was good.

The other two men huddled at the base of a wall, peering desperately into a small gap. Bloody nails and chunks of wall strewn about the hallway bore testament to the men’s work.

“My sister,” gasped one, coughing. “We heard her earlier. She said she was trapped... By the piano!” Lizzie offered him a water bottle, which he drank from gratefully. The other man also took a swig.

The piano, according to the schematics, was seven metres from their current position, straight towards the balcony. The area that the computer deemed most risky. “What’s her name?” Lizzie asked.

“Georgiana,” the third man said, as the brother stared desperately into the gloom, “Georgiana Darcy.”

Lizzie straightened, reaching for a doodlebug. “We’ll need you gentlemen to exit the rescue area so we can do our work.” All three men looked mutinous at the very idea, so she continued, “The two young ladies from across the hall are quite anxious to see you.” At this, the first man nodded in resigned agreement. “Four here will direct you out, and another of our operatives will check you over for any injury and keep you informed of our progress.”

The doodlebug was an amazing device, her uncle’s, a floating sphere covered with cameras and other sensors designed to float through narrow gaps like this one in search of disaster victims. Setting it down, the device lit up, humming, before the anti-grav genny’s kicked in and it zipped into the hole.

The third man watched the device disappear into the narrow opening stood, helped to his feet by the first. As he stood, Lizzie could make out the dark stain on his abdomen.

“Rich,” said the second man, seeing the same bloody patch with some horror. “You said you were alright.”

Coughing, the bloodstained one, Rich, answered, “It’s alright, I’ve had worse, but I’m not going to be any help for Georgie bleeding all over the hallway. C’mon, Darce, let these guys do their work. We’ll just be in the way.”

‘Darce’ still looked like arguing, but relented as ‘Rich’ held out an arm for support. Lydia and Lizzie exchanged invisible glances through the visors of their helmets. That cough didn’t sound good. Lydia motioned to the three men, directing them out of the suite. Lizzie nodded at her sister before turning her attention to the feed from the doodlebug as it popped up in her HUD.

Beyond the initial narrow crack, the small passage widened outwards somewhat. Still narrow, none of the men would fit, but Lizzie, who was smallest of her sisters, might just be able to squeeze through if not encumbered by the fire-pack.

A broken piano leg came into focus in the video stream, and beyond that, underneath the remains of the rest of the piano was a young lady. “Georgiana! Georgiana Darcy!” Lizzie called into her microphone, transmitting through the doodlebug’s speakers. The girl stirred, but didn’t wake. Her vitals were weak but not overly concerning. One leg appeared trapped beneath rubble, and there were signs of a head injury, but luckily the girl seemed otherwise unharmed and in free space.

The doodle bug had done its job of mapping the small space the girl found herself in and the computers were churning over the best plan of attack. In any case, the small entrance would have to be widened, as the three men had correctly predicted but Lizzie had more tools at her disposal than just bare hands. Stabilising the nearby rocks with bracers took a little time, and then Lydia rejoined her with the big laser-cutter.

By now, the computers had done their work, and came to the conclusion that Lizzie’s gut feelings already had. Someone would have to go down the narrow gap... and it was not a risk Lizzie would let her sister take. Besides, Lydia, despite being the youngest, was the tallest of her sisters.

Kitty’s voice crackled in their headsets, updating them on the condition of the three men – ‘Rich’ had a collapsed lung and Kitty would like to see him in the hands of qualified doctors sooner rather than later. A rescue helicopter from the local area was finally on site, and would lift him out to the nearest hospital. With that done, she would be free to assist Lizzie and Lydia. Quickly selecting the relevant data on the Darcy girl’s situation, Lizzie sent it to her sister. Kitty would know what was needed and join them.

By now the gap was wide enough – just – for Lizzie to attempt to slip through. She quickly doffed the firepack, taking an independent breathing pack from a compartment on the back side. Even with the fire out, it was smoky enough that Lizzie coughed before the clean, filtered air kicked in.

Strapping the small laser cutter to one leg, and a medikit to the other, Lizzie checked over her gear. She would also trail behind two lines which she could use to haul in anything she needed through the gap, or that Lydia could use to haul things out. A last check, and nod at Lydia, and Lizzie carefully started to inch her way through the gap.

Kitty announced that the local helo had lifted.

_Two metres. Three._

Mary’s voice, calm and reassuring, announced the arrival of the local LEO, fire and ambulance by road.

Lizzie hated enclosed spaces. It was true. She had been in a few over the years, but she hated them. Her sisters knew

_Four metres._

The passage widened and Lizzie took a deep breath. It was fine. She had been in worse.

Kitty asking if anything was needed from the Firefly.

_Five._

There was the victim. _Mind on the job, Lizzie Bennet._

“Georgiana,” she gently touched the girl’s cheek. No reply.

Placing a breather over the girl’s face, she began her assessment. The girl’s pupils were dilated, so definitely a head injury. A neck collar would be a good idea, and then when she was free, a stretcher pull out through the gap to minimise any internal injuries.

The corner of the piano had largely protected her from the worst of it and while it needed to be lifted to free her, there were unlikely to be crush injuries. Her leg appeared worse up close - broken, yes, but not crushed, and free enough once the small rocks covering it were removed.

Clearing the first few, she assessed the space.

“I’ll need two air cushions, Kitty,” she replied to her sister. “The extra-smalls, I think.”

“F.A.B,” her sister responded.

The XS cushions were tiny, but powerful; less than the size of her boot, but capable of inflating to a hand-span high in only a few seconds. It was more than enough in this circumstance, as the girl needed less than that to be freed.

By the time she had cleared the rest of the rubble away, Kitty was at the worksite. Lizzie could hear them arguing, briefly, and Kitty reported that the cushions were on a stretcher attached to the blue line. Lizzie began to pull it through the gap.

“I’ll stay here, as the girl needs medical care,” Kitty said. “Lydia will head out to watch the equipment and stop the brother from coming back in. He’s one of _those_ types.”

Lizzie huffed. ‘Those’ types were the worst to be rescued. For one of three reasons – they thought that they knew better than their rescuers and wanted to interfere, they were too concerned with themselves and their want to be rescued first to submit to instructions, or they were so concerned with others that they did harebrained things to ‘help’. The brother was the last type. They really did _not_ need him here and in the way.

She placed the cushions under the piano, behind the girl, which, when inflated would make a triangle with the remaining half of the broken piano leg. Lizzie inflated the air cushions, listening carefully for any strain in the rocks around their cavity. Half way should be enough.

It was.

Carefully, she pulled the girl out by the shoulders, just enough to get her onto the stretcher. Easing the girl free was now easy enough. Once she was in empty space, Lizzie carefully splinted her broken leg for the trip out. The last thing was a protective cover so that the trip back out through the small gap wouldn’t injure her further.

“On the green line,” Lizzie instructed Kitty, “We’re ready to go.”

Coming back out through the gap was easy enough, Kitty providing the pull and Lizzie steering from behind. Once free, Kitty performed her own assessment of the girl, and then a quick once-over of her eldest sister, while Lizzie glared and submitted to it.

Outside, Mary reported, one of the local medical helicopters with doctor was standing by for them, so they guided the stretcher out.

The brother was waiting on the lawn as expected, and Lydia had to hold him back as he tried to rush up the rocks to meet them. “Sir,” she was saying, “Sir, you need to let us work. She needs medical attention.”

Lizzie left Kitty to do the handover with the doctor from the helo, as she went to check in with the Resort director, who was standing by a tall man whose posture screamed top-cop.

He shook her hand effusively. “That’s all accounted for now,” he said, “We were expecting a lot worse when we heard the first reports.”

“It’s pretty much a write off in that wing,” she told him, “But we do what we can.”

“Yessir, and we are grateful,” Hager interjected.

She shook both their hands again as she took her leave. Kitty was driving the firefly back to Two, and Lydia had cleared the site of their gear.

“Report!” she said, meeting them at the ramp.

“Everything’s accounted for,” replied Lydia.

“Job well jobbed,” Kitty cheered, parking the firefly.

Lizzie grinned tiredly, “Time to go home.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Thomas Bennet had largely remained off-the-radar to both mainstream and journalistic consciousness. He had been one of dozens of people to found companies in the IT boom of the 80s, something unworthy of note. That his success had continued through the 90s had been more unusual, but Bennet had remained a quiet player in a market dominated by the Apples’ and Microsofts’ of the computing world. By the early 2000’s he had retired to his island with the fledgling dream of International Rescue, and had carefully cultivated his image of an eccentric recluse, with a predilection for rare books. His wealth was significantly underestimated, due to clever handling by Mr Phillips and several holding companies, and his daughters, while each beautiful and accomplished, had largely avoided the media’s gaze.

What little attention focused on the Bennets was not due to wealth, but far less interestingly, Bennet’s philanthropic efforts. He had been involved in the founding of several charities – unsurprisingly, those mainly supported literacy and numeracy programs and other ongoing education - but another, more recent, program involved coordination of relief teams for the rebuilding efforts needed after the kind of disasters that IR dealt with on a near-daily basis.  
  
Because of this, Thomas Bennet regularly received invitations to various other charity events for this or that cause. Rarely, did he attend. More often, he sent one or other of his three eldest daughters – they being of age to partake in the alcoholic beverages so often served. It was not worth placing the somewhat sillier younger two in range of such temptation.

This event, in Los Angeles, was for one of the college-education charities that Bennet had helped found. Though no longer involved in the running of the organisation, he was on good terms with those who did, and as such felt it necessary for the presence of some Bennet – while not himself on this occasion – certainly his eldest two were free, and could attend.

Jane Bennet enjoyed such events – Jane was the sort of person who was happy quite nearly everywhere. It was the opportunity to meet and converse with new people, to dance, dine, drink and of course, as it was not often that the sisters were at such events, shop for new dresses!

Mary, by contrast hated them – she was not inclined to dress up; though she did have an eye for what looked good, she was far too rooted in practicality to enjoy the idea of one-use-only gowns, and far to reticent to seek the company of strangers.

Lizzie was less fond of such events than Jane, but enjoyed them more than Mary. She liked to meet new people, for she was a studier of character and events like this provided her with many new subjects to examine, and a few well-known ones to gauge changes in. She also enjoyed dancing and the food, she’d admit, if pressed. Even the wearing of a new dress was a thrill for her girly side, shoes and jewellery too – but _not_ the shopping that such required – thus Jane, or now more often their younger sisters found themselves recruited for the rigamarole of society.

Still, Lizzie would go this time – the PhoenixEdu charity her father had helped to found had recently helped its thousandth recipient with further education. For a charity only ten years old, it was quite an achievement. Many of those recipients would be present – a better educated and more humble crowd than normally attended such events. Indeed, Lizzie looked forward to some excellent conversation for a change

Besides, Charlotte would be there, and it had been an age since they had all caught up.

The trip up to ‘Five to bring Jane back had been easy enough – Uncle Gardiner had volunteered to cover a rotation for two weeks in order for him to do some needed repair work and upgrades, which had the benefit of letting IR remain fully operational with the four ground-based sisters available for rescues. Lizzie would only be away for three days, but Jane had been in space for quite some time – and being onboard Five was a 24/7 job, unlike the rest of the family on the island – so was getting her first holiday of the year, with a week and a half away from everything.

Well, almost. Their father had asked if Jane would go to L.A. and lend a physical presence at two board meetings for Bennet Industries. He himself would attend as he usually did, via videoconference. They had perfected between them a good-cop/bad-cop routine that worked incredibly well, and Lizzie had often had to excuse herself from the few meetings that she did attend to laugh heartily in her sister’s office.

Jane had spent a few days on the island with them. Of necessity, a few hours had been taken up by refresher training on the other ‘birds, and their equipment. Their afternoons had been leisurely, taken up with entertaining their young cousins, swimming in the pool, and in the ocean, sunbathing, and eating a whole lot of aunt Phillips’ excellent cooking.

They had gathered for a few evenings, usually in Mary’s room, a habit of the sisters. Mary had the best music collection after all, vinyl and digital both. It was a custom borne of the loss of their mother – the sisters had turned to each other in the aftermath of her death, and while they had the guidance of their aunts, it wasn’t quite the same.

That evening, the last of Jane’s on the island before she left, had been no different. Mary had chosen today’s theme music, and it was a much-complained-about 80’s mix, before seating herself at the desk with her tablet to doodle on. Lydia had claimed the bean bag, flopping into it, limbs askew. It was Lizzie’s usual perch, but she didn’t argue, choosing instead to sit behind her elder sister on the bed and braid her hair, like they had done as children. Kitty was lounging beside them, heels tapping in time to the music.

None of them felt much like talking – today’s avalanche rescue in South America brought back some painful memories to the eldest – but the companionable silence was soothing.

Lizzie went to bed well after midnight – Lydia had been the first to nod off, still in the bean bag and they had left her there. Kitty had sought her own bed, and Mary braved the disaster that was Lydia’s room as Lydia snored loudly. Lizzie and Jane had retreated to Jane’s infrequently used bedroom for a little while, before the day caught up to them too. Besides, Jane needed to fly tomorrow, and while her departure wasn’t until the afternoon, Aunt Phillips liked them to be at breakfast before ten.

The remainder of the week was unremarkable, and Lizzie was not unhappy to turn over the responsibility for IR to Mary, and Thunderbird One to Kitty. Her father, she knew, was especially diligent in watching over them all while she and Jane were not around, and she had no real worried.

Her trip to the mainland was not the best – turbulence remained from a storm that had blown itself out on the West Coast. Lizzie was feeling distinctly green when she landed five hours after she left Bennet Island. It was a trip that usually took a half-hour less, but she had diverted around the worst turbulence twice, dragging the miserable flight out.

They’d been using the services of a Luxury jet company for many years, and Lizzie knew most of their crew by name. Originally, they had simply inhabited on occasion the large hangar next door to Blueskies Aviation Services, but their boss had made an excellent offer to her father – use of the Bennets’ hangar in return for VIP treatment when they _were_ in town. It had been a good deal, and both sides were happy with it.

 She was passing on the instructions for the jet when Jane messaged her, saying that she had been unexpectedly called back to work for a problem, and could they meet at the apartment? It was an excuse to take out her car. The little red sports car had been a spur-of-the moment purchase when Lizzie had been 16. She had done it up over the course of a few years with the assistance of her father and uncles, with Jane and Mary occasionally assisting. The car had found a lot of use over the years when she was in town – Lizzie had allowed Jane to drive it on occasion, Mary too, though the youngest sisters were forbidden. It was nice to have an excuse to break it out.

She made good time into town to the apartment complex that her father owned. They had spent a few years in L.A. when Lizzie was younger, but the house they had lived in then had been sold in preference for the more secure apartment they used now – and her father had simply purchased the entire building to prevent any future surprises.

Several years prior, he had set aside another of the apartments for the use of the girls when they were in town – an entirely logical decision when Lydia was taken into account. Besides, the original had only one bedroom, as the second had been converted to an office for their father’s use.

Jane was home, and it looked like she had arrived not long before, as the take-out she had picked up was still steaming on the kitchen counter. The faint sound of a running shower attested to where her sister was.

“Lunch?” Lizzie called out,

“Yup,” Jane’s voice floated out of the bathroom, “Just leave me half!”

Lizzie made herself a plate, and tucked in. She’d wandered over to the table, which was strewn with documents and had started reading, when Jane strode out, clad only in a long T-shirt which had once belonged to their father.

“Busy week, huh,” Lizzie said, wrinkling her nose as she perused the latest on Bennet Industries’ buy-out of a small start-up dealing with wrist-mounted communications devices. Presumably her father was after something for IR, it seemed like something their Uncle and Aunt could turn into something useful.

“Mmmhmm,” Jane replied. She hadn’t bothered to make a plate, and was chowing down straight from the box.

“I don’t envy you!”

Jane wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin, “I don’t envy me either,” she said. “But it’s on track, and I’m happy to leave it with the transition team now. I’ll be glad to see the Island though, just this one more thing to go.”

The charity event was of the dressy but not extravagant kind, and so Lizzie chose not to wear a dress, opting for slack and a nice blue blouse. Jane was dolled up in a blue dress, and they matched nicely. The event began at seven, and the main part of it – the speeches, the dinner, would be from seven-thirty until ten. They arrived fashionably late to their driver’s apologies – seven-twenty – due to traffic rather than by design, and had only a few minutes to say hellos to the people they recognised before having to rush to take their seats.

It appeared that Charlotte had, thankfully, seated them not far apart – close enough to be within speaking distance certainly – and had placed herself nearby also. Charlotte Lucas had been a friend of the Bennet girls growing up – the Lucas family had three daughters and a son, and had all the advantages of being near-neighbours with children close in age. Charlotte had gone on to study business management and marketing, and after a few years in the corporate world, had turned to charities.

She’d done brilliantly in marketing for PhoenixEdu, that was undisputed, and even those critics who had called nepotism on her appointment had been silenced. Sometimes, Lizzie thought, her father regretted the appointment – Charlotte was pragmatic to a fault, and had ruthlessly utilised her connections with the Bennet family, and _their_ connections, as well as her own previous ties made in corporate, and during her education to assist the kids in the charity. Lizzie herself had provided introductions to her former professors and mentors after bribery and blackmail at Charlotte’s hands.

The dinner was corporate-event-fancy-yet-unfilling, but they’d expected it, hence the take-out. The speeches were good – by tradition most weren’t the thank-you-to-everyone-and-my-mother, but rather the this-is-what-I’ve-done-with-my-life kind. Several former grant recipients spoke of their research, one or two about their own efforts in contributing to charities. It was nice to hear of the flow-on-effect of what they’d done.

At ten, the mingling started, and the crowd began to thin after twelve. Lizzie was caught up with a couple the people she’d assisted, and the conversation had turned to rocketry following the general how do you do’s. The conversation got heated, napkins were scribbled on, and google employed. Lizzie was thoroughly enjoying herself, she had to admit.

The dancing started not long after midnight – the remaining crowd were of the happy-but not-too-inebriated type. Jane was a popular figure on the floor, though Lizzie was obliged to sit down for a little while owing to the heat. Charlotte found her there, plopping down into the seat beside her.

“It’s been an age!” she said, “How are you really, Lizzie?”

Lizzie laughed, “Busy, but not as busy as you it seems!” Charlotte had been swamped by people the entire night, and it seemed that every time she finished one conversation, she had been accosted by someone else who just _had to_ speak with her. It was a big change from the Charlotte of high school, who had been something of an introverted wall-flower, and who had never courted popular opinion.

Charlotte huffed, feigning exhaustion. Lizzie chuckled, and wasn’t at all surprised when two of Charlotte’s co-workers approached them, dragging Charlotte off to the latest must-have conversation. One of her former mentees had also approached her for a dance, and Lizzie allowed herself to be cajoled back onto the dance floor.

At three am, they finally decided to make their farewells; it was late enough, even if the party seemed likely to go for several more hours. Jane was noticeably sleepy as she headed off to cal their driver, even if Lizzie felt she could have stayed a few hours through the magic of timezones! It was only going midnight on the Island. Charlotte, seeing that they were leaving, speedily attached herself to Lizzie’s side.

“Ride home?” Lizzie offered.

Charlotte grinned tiredly, “Yes, or I’ll never get to leave. Besides, how else are we supposed to get a chance to gossip?”

“There’s gossip?” She asked, as they squeezed through the crowd into the space by the wardrobe.

“Jane’s got a boyfriend, didn’t you know?” Charlotte whispered, as they collected their coats, “I heard something from Natalie, about how she’s been seen with this guy.”

Lizzie blinked, “She hasn’t mentioned it, though she has been a little cagey.”

“Oh, you needn’t worry, I’ve only heard good reports about him,” Charlotte reassured her, “I’m quite glad she is dating, I think it would be good for her to get out a little more. You’re practically becoming nuns on that island. You really do need to be finding lives of your own.”

It was a conversation they had thrashed over many times before, and Lizzie rolled her eyes, “Yep, total nunnery.”

Charlotte knew well enough to let the subject drop as they made their way outside. Their driver was waiting for them outside in the queue – he didn’t blink at the addition of Charlotte, as she was a familiar enough face around Bennet Industries. Indeed, he dropped Charlotte off quite without any directions being needed at all.

Lizzie didn’t have time to question Jane that night, but as they headed out in the direction of the airport the following morning, Lizzie knew she could get some answers from her sister.

 “Whew,” Lizzie said, once they were on the freeway, “I feel like we haven’t had a chance to really talk yet.”

Jane made a noise of agreement, but continued to stare down into her lap.

“Do anything interesting while you were here outside of work?” She asked, trying to be subtle.

“Not really,” Jane said, “It was a busy week.”

“Jaaane,” Lizzie drawled, giving up on pretense, “I talked to Charlotte.”

Jane would not lift her eyes to meet Lizzie’s, something she did when she was nervous.

“Lizzie, the group you rescued from the Sweetmeadow...” She began.

Lizzie was nodding in remembrance of the rescue just over a week before.

“Well,” Jane continued, “I met one of them. Charlie Bingley.”

Lizzie pursed her lips, “He was the blond, was he not?”

Jane nodded. Lizzie understood the reasons for her sister’s hesitation. It was... discouraged strongly by their father, Aunts and Uncles and Lady C, to contact or even look up the fate of anyone they had rescued. Too often, they would rescue someone, only for them to succumb to injuries, days, even weeks later. Many had their lives irrevocably altered by the disasters they were in – people lost family, homes, jobs, sometimes limbs, quite literally. It was incredibly depressing to know that lives might be saved, but that did not mean that lives went on unaltered. Many stories were heartbreaking, and Lizzie had broken down one day after a particularly harrowing bushfire rescue, where a child they had rescued had later died. Their father had placed a blanket ban then – anyone who was on the ground could not, and the rest should not find out their rescuees’ fates.

Their father would check, Lizzie knew, but he did not ever tell them the bad stories, and more often than not, he did not say anything at all. But sometimes, after a particularly harrowing day, he would have waiting a success story from a prior rescue waiting for them.

“How...” Lizzie paused, and changed the question, “How did you meet him?”

Jane smiled faintly, “You know I go to the open lectures at UCLA when I have the time,” Lizzie nodded. She had been to a few also, and Mary too had attended on occasion. “Well, there was one that looked kind interesting on mobile device security and so I went. There weren’t too many people there, most of them were college kids, but us older ones sort of gathered off to one side. He sat down next to me,” Jane shrugged, “What are the chances of that, Lizzie?”

Lizzie could only make a noise of agreement. Jane couldn’t really be faulted for it... “But?”

Jane rolled her eyes faintly, “What makes you think there is a but?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t be telling me if there wasn’t.”

Jane sighed, and fidgeted with her phone, “Well, we kind of got talking. It wasn’t a great lecture as it turns out, but I didn’t want to walk out because that would be rude. Not that talking in lectures isn’t rude,” she looked slightly guilty, “But it really _was_ a terrible lecture.”

Lizzie made a noise of something like encouragement, as Jane had paused again.

“Well, he’s a good talker and we ended up going out to eat afterwards. He asked me if I wanted to go to the next lecture together and, well, we did.”

“So, he _is_ the guy Charlotte mentioned,” Lizzie couldn’t stop herself from blurting that out, and she chastised herself.

Jane did look up in surprise. “Charlotte mentioned him?”

“Only that you were seeing someone, she had heard it second-hand herself.”

“Oh,” Jane stared at her phone, “Do you...” she trailed off.

“I can’t say I approve, and I don’t think Dad will either, Jane dearest, but _I_ don’t disapprove. You aren’t on the Ground very often – you definitely weren’t at the Sweetmeadow so you don’t have as much risk of being recognised. I don’t know enough about him to make a decision. You know that Lady C will look him up if you ask. I only want you to ask if you do get serious so that there aren’t any surprises.”

Jane nodded slowly. “He does know that I’m going to be away from L.A. for a few weeks, so he might forget about me entirely, you know.”

“I don’t think anyone could forget about you!” Lizzie exclaimed. “Besides, we’re going to be back for the IR Ball soon enough, and if he does forget about you in that time, then he is entirely undeserving of your goodness!”

“Lizzie!” Jane blushed. They turned away from boys and towards their flight as they pulled into the airport. Lizzie knew Jane was re-checking their flight plans, and the weather, and would tell her if anything was important, just as she always did.

They flew back to Bennet Island together, as much as you could in separate aircraft... Lizzie was the better pilot so flew behind her sister and kept a suitable distance away, while Jane took responsibility for their navigation. It was nice, being from it all, away from the Island for a few days, especially together with Jane.  Lizzie missed spending time with her sister, she realised, and wanted to make sure she got to do so more in the future. She knew Jane deserved more than just spending all of her time in space, and if she’d met someone she really liked... If it meant doing a few more rotations on Five, and thus being able to encourage her younger sisters to do so as well, then she would do it. She would put it to her father and her Aunts and Uncles when she returned home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

For quite some time, as it turned out, Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had been working on a way to route the communications network straight to Bennet Island, much to Lizzie’s relief. Previously, it had been dismissed as impossible, as the downlink width required would be astronomical. However, new developments in nano-chips and micro-comms arrays for the satellite industry had boosted the ability of communications to the point where both Gardiners thought it feasible. The delivery of a new supercomputer to the Island had taken care of the hardware requirements on the ground. 

Jane had independently been working on an algorithm to detect and prioritise incidents that might require International Rescue’s intervention. She  _had_  intended her project as an improvement on the system that she had been using as an ‘autopilot’ while she was not on duty or asleep. Nevertheless, the Gardiners had seen the broader potential of such a program. 

Between the two projects, it was now entirely feasible that there would be no need for TB5 to be manned permanently. They’d still require the station – a mere satellite network would most definitely not be able to contain the supercomputers required to process the incredible amount of information that the world generated. They’d also need to have someone on board at least some of the time to update the computers and repair the station. Space was a harsh environment.

Rescue calls would, of course, be routed directly to the ground to be dealt with by an operator, and other events – predicted weather, and natural disasters like volcanoes, tsunami and earthquakes would be detected by the software, filtered for relevance, and downlinked for human brains to review and decide if the Thunderbirds were needed. There would still be a person involved, but they need not be isolated in space for weeks at a time.

Of course, the upgrade of the comms network – sixteen satellites in three different orbits, as well as the launch of the new geostationary keystone satellite required to make the whole system work was going to mean a few weeks of hard work. Lizzie was quite looking forward to it – she had not spent much time in orbit since handing primary responsibility of Thunderbird Three to Kitty nearly eleven months before.  

Kitty was also looking forward to it. Three had only been required as a mere space-taxi in that time; she had not exactly had the opportunity to do something interesting with ‘her’ bird. To be able to command a mission was something she was looking forward to immensely, and she had taken it very seriously so far, spending all of her free time with Aunt Gardiner and Papa as they plotted out the four flights that would be required for the sat launches, and the heavy-launch to get the new hardware up to Five. When the rest were occupied elsewhere, Kitty could be found in the sims, endlessly practicing the manoeuvres needed. On more than one occasion, Aunt Phillips had needed to drag Kitty from the sim for meals and for sleep. Aunt could also be heard to mutter about Kitty making herself sick again – she had always been the most prone of all the sisters to illness, and they had always tried to be careful of it.

Jane, Lydia and Aunt Gardiner would be the ones accompanying Kitty into space – Jane had, by far, the most experience out of all of them in zero-gravity operations. Aunt Gardiner would provide the technical know-how and was the best at using their remote capture system to collect the existing satellites for their upgrades. Lydia was almost as excited as Kitty. Having only recently completed her training on Thunderbird Three, she had flown into space only twice before, and the novelty of spaceflight and microgravity had not yet worn off. These would be her first EVAs as well, her last box to tick before she could say she was fully trained on to live in space. The prospect of never having to do so as a part of the six-week rotation roster on Thunderbird Five only added to people-loving Lydia’s joy at the whole process. 

Operation Upgrade (as papa had termed it, although Lydia had taken to calling it Operation Free From Five) was scheduled for next week, provided that the weather and rescue callouts co-operated. Uncle Gardiner had traded with Jane, who had done an especially short two-week-trip, two days before, both preparing Five’s systems for the swap. Three had been through her monthly maintenance, and was looking especially clean and tidy. Lydia, when properly motivated, could be counted on to put her not-inconsiderable efforts in the right direction. Lizzie too, had been over every inch of Three. She trusted her sisters, but placing your trust in a machine was exactly the right thing to do if you wanted to wind up dead. One and Two had not been spared the hard work – Lizzie and Mary would be in sole charge of rescues while Operation Upgrade was underway, although Uncle Gardiner might be spared on occasion, and they needed everything to work.

With two days to go until the first launch, Lizzie knew that her own plan, Operation Distraction, needed to get underway. Everyone had been working so hard through the last month, and there had been more than a few difficult rescues recently – not just the Sweetmeadow – but there had been two fires (one suburban and one forest fire), an avalanche and an earthquake, none of which were the “nice” kind of rescue.

Operation Distraction was easy enough in principle – there was an event in three weeks for which she and Jane required new outfits – and Kitty and Lydia could be counted on to provide (usually) unwanted commentary on their older sisters’ choices in dress. Thunderbirds they might be, but they were also girls barely out of the schoolroom. And really, neither Jane nor Lizzie had anything new to wear, as was essentially required in the world of the rich and famous, however eccentric their father might be. The biggest (and longest running) mission, that being Operation Cover-Up, required that the Bennet sisters be nothing too extraordinary, nothing that would link them to the Thunderbirds’ pilots. Being female certainly helped. Being thought of as the empty-headed, vapid and vacuous socialite daughters of an eccentric billionaire was even better. Surely, Lizzie had thought on many occasions, Papa would think it entertaining if one of the younger girls caused some scandal sometime in the future to keep up the image – papa was like that. Lydia, ten-time winner of the ‘Most-Annoying-Bennet-Sister-Award’ would no doubt volunteer. Especially if it involved alcohol. Or men. Or both.

There were only so many degrees you could earn before people started taking you seriously – whether you wanted it or not, and Lizzie knew that she, Jane and Mary were suspicious in their competence. In the families of her father’s compatriots in wealth and influence, at least one child fell victim to the temptations of the fast set.

Lizzie strode into the lounge, latest editions of Vogue and Harpers’ in one hand. 

“Right!” she said, slapping them down on the coffee table. Startled, Jane, Kitty and Lydia looked up from Operation Upgrade plan number seventy-six. “Dresses needed for that stupid Recovery ball, Jane. I have  _nothing_  to wear. Pink is in this season, which is fine for you, but makes me look like a dead marshmallow,” she moaned theatrically. 

Bait accepted, Lydia snatched the top magazine from the pile. “Ooooh, you are so not wearing pink, it looks hideous on you.” Lydia eyed their oldest sister thoughtfully, holding up the open page and glancing back and forth between the two, “But this would look good on Jane. The latest _Emile Vasquez_. Yummy!” 

Kitty, unsurprisingly, had also been unable to resist as her younger sister dived in. “No, no, did you see that collection by _Milly_? I know it was mostly saffron this year but it would look just divine in pink. If Jane was wearing it, anyway.” Kitty also did not suit pink.  

“Jane makes anything look good,” snorted Mary from the corner, where she was tapping away at her laptop. Jane blushed, and made soft protest, while her sisters all made sounds of agreement. 

Kitty brandished a page under Lydia’s nose. “Lizzie would look good in this if it was in green. She looks okay in lighter yellows, but I’m sure this would be fantastic in a green…Or… you know Milly’s sister, why don’t you message her…” by this point, Lydia had already stalked over to Mary, pilfering her laptop despite Mary’s protests. 

Jane sent Lizzie an amused look – Jane, at least, could be annoyingly perspicacious when she wanted to be, especially when it came to her sisters. 

Two days later, the first launch of TB3 on Operation Upgrade took place into a beautifully clear early morning sky. This first trip was the high-orbital launch of the keystone geostationary satellite. While Three was theoretically capable of reaching the altitude required for geostationary orbit (and indeed, further – Uncle had once theorised that they could make a moonshot work, given a few days of preparation), they had decided for simplicity to launch to 85% of that orbit and let the sat’s onboard thrusters do the rest.

This mission was first, for the simple reason that, if it did not work, then the rest of the mission would be worthless until a replacement satellite was built. That could take up to six months. 

While she was not taking part, Lizzie sat in the command and control, which when active took over the space that their father’s office usually occupied. It was quite different, she reflected, being on the other side of things. Lizzie had only ever missed a handful of missions, having been the field commander of IR since its inception. She’d once taken six weeks out due to a broken arm, but that had only cost her three rescues. A bad cold last year had stopped her from flying for a week, and a rescue. Sitting here now, on the sidelines, felt strange.

In truth, Lizzie had been strongly encouraged to leave Three’s silo by her Aunt, as she was hovering and it was only adding to Kitty's already high stress-levels. Everything had been checked over repeatedly by all of them (even Lydia, in a rare show of empathy, had sat down with Kitty as she talked over each step), and nothing was gained by Lizzie’s relentless double checking.

She had stayed long enough to help her sisters into their pressure suits (not full space-suits, these simply kept a breathable atmosphere around their wearer in case of decompression) and did the necessary leak checks. The helmets would go back on later, once the crew were in Three’s cockpit, but it was nice to get it sorted before the scramble that was getting into Three’s seats.

Following the launch on the computer screen and hearing the radio chatter between her sisters relieved some of Lizzie’s own stress. Once in orbit, it would take a further five burns of Three’s engines to make the proper orbital velocity to deploy the satellite into its preliminary orbit. That would take some time – eight hours all told. She left command and control active (usually strictly forbidden, but usually forgiven for long missions like this would be) as most of the family would be dropping by at some stage or other. Indeed, as she entered the main living area, Mary was heading in the direction of her father’s office, camera in hand.

“Good shooting?”

Mary hmmn’ed non-committally, “The light was better than it usually is, but the angles weren’t quite right. I’ll see once I get them up on the screen.”

Mary’s collection of photos of the ‘birds in action were rather good, though she was only an amateur photographer. They’d used a few of them for publicity purposes; despite their strict anonymity, International Rescue _did_ have an official website which they used to publish the ways IR could be contacted and also to notify the public of any downtime where IR would not be operating. As the Thunderbirds were all equipped with camera jamming devices, these photos made up the majority of the good quality stills available to the wider world, and Mary had selected the ones to use with care. Should she have got a nice shot of Three, it would likely be added to the site, as the current shot of Three was quite outdated and in need of replacement, but that was neither here nor there.

She chose to help her Aunt Phillips with the young Gardiners, as the kids were great to keep her mind off the mission. The kids however could be relied on to unerringly pipe up just before any major event, such as the burns, and the sat release, and then they would all gather in C&C to watch.

The sat release went perfectly – Aunt Gardiner timed the release to perfection – and the satellite working flawlessly according to both Aunt and Uncle, who was monitoring on Five.

On the return, they would stop by Five to exchange Uncle Gardiner for Jane and bring him back to Earth to assist the rest of IR for the week. Thankfully, this part would take a much shorter time, and the deorbit and landing was the quickest part. It might take eight hours to get to the sat’s ideal launch point, but only an hour to reach Five, and after an hour to dock and exchange passengers, it was an hour again to undock and return to Bennet Island.

Three’s arrival was loud – as always – the sonic boom as Three decelerated down towards them cracking through the air. This was the biggest reason for their isolation, the noise made by the launch and re-entry could be heard for _miles._

Mary again had her camera in hand and was snapping away from the lookout out in front of their house where they all stood to watch Three’s fiery return. It was early evening, but the flare of the final burn lit up the surrounding island like it was day, before the soot-streaked rocket slid away from sight into her silo, the roar of her engines cutting off as she was gently lowered onto the gantry.

The successful return to Earth with all mission targets achieved and all things accounted for, could only be celebrated with a party. Aunt Phillips had made a collection of salads, and Uncle Phillips had brought out his grill, which he was very proud of, and often complained that they did not make use of enough.

And as it happened, much to Lydia’s delight, both Jane and Lizzie would indeed be wearing _Milly_ in a fortnight. In pink and emerald respectively.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Of all the events for which Thomas Bennet was invited, his favourite was the yearly charity ball run by International Recovery Indeed, all the Bennets had the greatest amusement when the invite arrived every year for Thomas Bennet (and Daughters), just one among many known philanthropist millionaires and billionaires.

International Recovery as an organisation was entirely unrelated, but the directors had capitalised on the early successes of the Thunderbirds to start an organisation dedicated to the sometimes extensive, and usually expensive rebuilds needed following the kind of disasters that IR attended. They had the permission, even the backing of International Rescue to do so, but Bennet had never become involved in the running of the recovery group. That, he left to the ubiquitous Lady Catherine.

Thomas Bennet had first met Lady Catherine Parker de Bourgh while he was undertaking post-doctoral studies at Cambridge. Lady Catherine’s husband, Sir Lewis, although, he had been simply The Honorable Mr Lewis de Bourgh then, had been undertaking study as well, when the two men had, quite literally, run into each other one day. It was a fortuitous meeting, for Bennet, had done his best to help his very social friend in his studies, and was, in all likelihood the only reason for passing grades. For his part, de Bourgh introduced the lonely American to his set of friends, and his wife, and also to  _her_  family and friends. 

Indeed it was a childhood friend of Lady Catherine, Frances Gardiner, who had captured Thomas’ heart, and she had agreed to marry him, even though he was shortly to return to the United States. The friendship of the de Bourghs and Bennets had become a long-distance affair for some years, punctuated only by short visits at the births of five daughters to the Bennets, and one to the de Bourghs, and stopping nearly entirely after the death of Frances Bennet shortly following the birth of her youngest child.  

Following the death of his wife, which unluckily coincided with the unprecedented success of Bennet Industries, Thomas had become something of a recluse, maintaining only the barest contact with Sir Lewis, and none at all with his wife, who bought to mind too many painful reminders.

They had come into contact again, early in the development of the Thunderbirds. Sadly, the reason had been the death of Sir Lewis, as Thomas and his eldest three daughters attended the funeral. Sir Lewis had taken his wife and daughter Anne, who was of an age with Mary, skiing in the Swiss alps. An avalanche had swept down the mountain, killing Lewis, and trapping his daughter, then sixteen. Anne had been rescued some three hours later, with broken bones and severe hypothermia. She had never quite recovered from the accident, and was still frail some six years later.

Lady Catherine had never forgiven herself, as she was not out on the slopes that fateful afternoon, having treated herself to an afternoon session at a spa. It had been twelve hours before she had been reunited with her injured daughter, and nearly two days before Sir Lewis’ body had been recovered and identified. 

Lady C, as she was known to the Bennets, had lamented to Thomas, some months after the accident, that the Swiss and French authorities had spent more time arguing about who had jurisdiction, and where the victims were to be sent, than actually rescuing those victims. If only, she had said, there was an international group who might help people, and not get mired in the politics.

Thomas had brought her on board that very day, and she had spent the past few years expending her not-inconsiderable influence both in Europe, and internationally, raising the profile of the Thunderbirds, and directing and fundraising for International Recovery. More covertly, Lady C used the contacts her father had gained during that worthy’s time in MI6, to funnel intelligence to International Rescue. More than once, had Lady C’s information got them out of a sticky situation, and all the girls were grateful to her, and treated her almost as if one of their Aunts.

This Ball was to be hosted jointly by Lady Catherine, and a group of women that Thomas collectively called the Hens. They were a diverse group in that they originated from several countries, were a mix of socialites and businesswomen, but all held the similarity of being rich, well connected, and supportive of International Rescue. This group, in particular the socialite set, Thomas gleefully avoided, and he usually sent one or other of his daughters to attend in his stead. This year, both Jane and Lizzy had opted to go, the former as a last minute addition, having discovered that Charlie Bingley was an attendee. This, she had managed to keep quiet from everyone, except Lizzy, who closely questioned Jane’s change of heart as they flew to LA.

It was pretty typical of Jane to be reticent about her feelings, she always had been. At not quite nine, Jane had been most affected, in some ways, by the death of their mother. She had retreated into a calm and serene shell, trying to keep things running smoothly for the three younger sisters who had missed their mother, and one newborn, who, typically Lydia, had been a demanding baby. 

“Sooooo,” Lizzie drawled, “Are you serious about him?” 

Jane fidgeted with the GPS settings and didn’t answer for a long minute. “I do like him,” she said hesitantly, “He’s nice, kind, has an excellent sense of humour, we can talk for ages without it being weird, and the silences aren’t awkward if we don’t feel like talking. He’s...”

“Everything a young man ought to be, huh?” Lizzie interrupted, teasing.

Jane smiled. “Oh, but it’s far too early to be thinking seriously. We’ve only met in person three or four times!”

“And not in person?”

Jane hesitated. “We’ve messaged, oh, maybe a dozen times. Not much, really. And only a couple of phone calls.”

“Mmmmmhmm,” Lizzie raised an eyebrow. Jane was clearly uncomfortable, so she allowed Jane to change the subject. She would meet this Charlie Bingley _properly_ , however, and take his measure. The sisters had been the targets of paparazzi and fortune hunters before, though she didn’t think Charlie was the type, not if he was staying somewhere as posh as the Sweetmeadow. But many of their peers, Lizzie remembered, had not become the kind of people they wanted to associate with, falling into the set who got into drugs, or illicit schemes. All of the sisters had learned to be careful in their friendships and their relationships, and Jane, due to her very nature, even more so. Lizzie hadn’t met any of Jane’s love-interests since they were both in high school.

“Mmmmmhmm,” Lizzie raised an eyebrow. Jane was clearly uncomfortable, so she allowed Jane to change the subject. She would meet this Charlie Bingley _properly_ , however, and take his measure. The sisters had been the targets of paparazzi and fortune hunters before, though she didn’t think Charlie was the type, not if he was staying somewhere as posh as the Sweetmeadow. But many of their peers, Lizzie remembered, had not become the kind of people they wanted to associate with, falling into the set who got into drugs, or illicit schemes. All of the sisters had learned to be careful in their friendships and their relationships, and Jane, due to her very nature, even more so. Lizzie hadn’t met any of Jane’s love-interests since they were both in high school.

Not that Lizzie had introduced any of hers to anyone in the family either, although she had discussed them, at least in the last few years given their situation, and usually with Jane, though Mary had become a confidante in the last few months.

Dressing up was _a lavish affair and quaite raight too_ , as Lady C had always said. Their dresses fit perfectly (Lydia and Kitty had made them stand for what felt like hours to get the measurements, which had been painful, and pointy, but Lizzie had to admit that it was worth it), and they had once again hired a friend of Jane’s who worked as a professional make-up artist to make them pretty – prettier in Jane’s case. Sally also had a deft touch with hair, taming Lizzie’s poufy, frizzy curls into something sleek and elegant. The most important thing was to be unrecognisable as Thunderbirds, in the event that one of them was unmasked at some point in the future.  As such, the afternoon was a very intensive girly affair.

Stepping out of the car that their father had hired (mid-range, _definitely_ _not_ a limo, perfectly chosen to discourage interest by the waiting photographers), Lizzy plastered a smile on her face. Jane’s smile was much more natural, being actually genuine, and she got rather more attention as she was handed out by their driver. There were appreciative comments, some more polite than others, directed at both of them but the lion’s share was Jane’s.

Once inside the hall, they found drinks (Lady C had excellent taste in champagne), and made their way around the room, greeting those they knew, and gaining a few introductions to those that they did not. Some of the attendees were former rescuees, which was quite startling when Lizzie recognised one or other of them – nobody expected the rescuers to be amongst the crowd, and certainly nobody expected the Bennet sisters to be those rescuers.

Speaking of, Lizzie felt Jane tense beside her – ah, there was Charlie Bingley. He wasn’t bad looking at all, once cleaned up, rather handsome in fact. Blond, blue eyed, tall – he and Jane looked quite striking together as they greeted one another.

Jane turned then to Lizzie, taking her arm. “Lizzie, this is Charlie Bingley, who has been kind enough to accompany me to the open lectures,” Jane smiled at Charlie in encouragement, “Charlie, this is my sister Elizabeth,”

Lizzie took the offered hand, “Nice to meet you,” they murmured in chorus, and then grinned at each other.

“What brings you to this circus?” Lizzie asked Charlie the standard question, keeping an eye on her sister’s reaction to the answer.

Charlie rubbed his neck, “Oh, I’m one of the grateful rescuees,” he said somewhat awkwardly. This wasn’t news to Lizzie, but nevertheless she did the concerned look expected after hearing it, and the follow up question was the obvious one.

“The Sweetmeadow the other month, both Darcy and I, and our sisters were caught up. They’re not here, our sisters. But Darcy should be somewhere,” Charlie trailed off, still sounding just as uncomfortable. Jane looked like she wanted to interject, so Lizzie dropped the line of questioning. Of course, that left the problem of _what exactly_ to talk about.

“Jane tells me she has four sisters, all younger,” Charlie started, obviously trying to fill the gap.

Lizzie nodded, somewhat relieved, “Yes, I’m the next in age. The younger ones aren’t here tonight either as they’re a bit young.”

“Oh, my sisters are younger as well,” Charlie offered.

Lizzie grinned wickedly, “Ah, then you understand the pain and suffering of having sisters,” she said, tone completely serious.

“Lizzie!” Jane scolded.

“You see,” Lizzie raised an eyebrow, tipping her head in Jane’s direction, which got a laugh out of Charlie.

“I do understand how embarrassing younger sisters can be,” Charlie returned with deliberate ambiguity and a twinkle in his eye.

“Bravo, sir!” Lizzie cried, “You have me there! So, what fills your time other than being pained by your sisters and escorting mine to lectures of dubious quality?”

Charlie replied that he had just started his own business- he was a software engineer, a programmer. He had developed an app, and had started the business to market it – he was doing fairly well. It was enough to support him and his sisters, he said, though his late father had left them fairly well off, Lizzie knew from a surreptitious background check.

They had just started into a discussion of the app Charlie had made, when they were interrupted.

“Charlie!” a voice boomed, “How are you, your sisters? Still making dough on that fiddly computer stuff of yours! Heyyy, didn’t I hear about you going up to the rockies? I heard about the fire at that place, what was it called again? Ah, doesn’t matter! Awful stuff, nevertheless, glad you’re looking as good as ever!”

Bingley grinned at the interloper, introducing him as Frank Denny, who was a classmate from college. Frank was one of those people without a filter, Lizzie noted exasperatedly, and he was directing a lingering gaze in Jane’s direction, much to her discomfort. Charlie, to Lizzie’s approval, dragged him and his wandering eyes back into the conversation.

“All down to the rescuers,” Charlie was saying, “My sisters are quite recovered, though they’re still quite worried about their friend who was injured. Lou has enrolled in a first aid course and Carrie marched into the nearest flight school demanding lessons. They were quite shook up by what happened, but they’re both somewhat taken with the idea of being Thunderbirds now!”

“Did you bring them?” Frank asked, “Lovely ladies, eh? Eh?” He winked suggestively.

“No,” Charlie replied somewhat pointedly, “they’re only nineteen, you know, Frank. Bit young for this kind of thing.”

“Aw,” Frank made a noise of mock despair, but he seemed to realise that he’d crossed a line.

“Yes, well,” Charlie cleared his throat.

 Shooting finger guns at Lizzie, and leering at Jane, Frank took his leave, “Gotta see Chamberlayne about some scheme he’s mentioned to get some diamonds outta somewhere. Megabucks in the making! Though the ladies will save me a dance, I hope?”

Lizzie smiled politely, though Jane nodded.

“Sorry about that,” Charlie winced, “He’s a good guy, means well, just a bit... unpolished.”

The sisters reassured him that it was quite alright and that they did not mind in the slightest. Both, thankfully, did manage to avoid dancing with Frank – Jane’s company was monopolised by Charlie Bingley for the first half-hour of the dancing, though he did his duty and asked Lizzie for the second. The sisters mingled for the other dances – Lizzie accepted a few with various friends of her father, while Jane was usually more sought after by their sons and nephews.

Jane appeared to be quite smitten, Lizzie thought with some delight as she sat down with a glass of cool water, desperately in need of a breather following the supper dance. Indeed, Jane looked happily flushed as she spoke to one of her tablemates. Bingley, it seemed, was heading in the direction of the bar for refreshments, before he abruptly detoured towards Lizzie... No, he was heading for his friend, who leaned against the wall a few paces down from where she sat. He’d been there for the last hour, shifting there from the other side of the room where he’d been engaged in much the same occupation – glaring at anyone who approached and refusing to converse.

“Come on, Darce, you can’t just stand there all night!” Bingley cried.

Lizzie could just make out the look on Darcy’s face as he glowered at his friend. “I can so, Bingley. I’m not in the mood for dancing or meaningless chit-chat.”

“Hardly meaningless, my friend! Jane and I were just talking about Moir’s work on nanoparticle engines!”

Darcy scoffed loudly enough for Lizzie to hear it.

“I’m sure she’d like to talk to you about it, Darcy, and apparently her sister is quite interested in the subject too...” Bingley implored, before being cut off by his friend.

“Yes, I’m sure such rich society girls have definitely read the latest Moir and Mollison papers, and can exert sufficient brain power to understanding and debating it,” Darcy said, rolling his eyes. “Nevertheless, I’m not in the mood to be flirted at by a mediocrely pretty girl who thinks she knows what she’s talking about, and I’m sure _your_ _friend_ is awaiting her drink.”

Bingley sighed in resignation, before leaving his morose friend in search of the bar. For her part, Lizzie had nearly choked on her juice at such a declaration! She knew quite well that this Darcy hadn’t been to any IR ball before, she had never seen his name on any of the guests lists. It _showed_ , because, while yes there was the socialite set who wanted to be seen, there was also a large contingent who were seriously dedicated to finding solutions to help people recover from disaster, or to prevent them in the first place! This set was well-educated, well-financed (usually), and truly interested in bettering the world. Darcy, having seen first-hand what it was like to be in the worst of places, should have been supportive of it all rather than judgementally condemning it and just all round being rude.

What an _awful_ man.

Lizzie made her way over to her sister quite determined to forget anything that took away from her enjoyment of what had so far been an excellent night that had far surpassed her expectations, especially the pronouncements of an ungrateful rescuee.

Jane, who had been rejoined by Bingley, drinks in hand, eagerly welcomed her sister into the conversation. They spent much of the rest of the night with this group – Lizzie was only obliged to sit down for a few dances, though Jane, naturally, had been requested for them all.

She’d feel a little under the weather tomorrow (the champagne really _was_ excellent), and they didn’t manage to speak with Lady C at all, but it turned out to be an excellent ball, quite the event of the season. Lady C would be thrilled, no doubt!


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Chapter Seven**

About two weeks later, after their return to the island, three rescues in quick succession had all of the Bennet girls exhausted and grumpy. The weather had been uncharacteristically awful too, which had kept Lydia indoors and out of the pool. Lydia would swim in nearly all weathers, but when it was so windy that the pool was periodically dumping waves over the deck, even she had given up. Tempers had shortened noticeably, and pointless bickering had broken out, mostly between the youngest two sisters, though Mary had become unusually snappish. They were all, Lizzie remarked to her father with perfect awareness that her own behaviour had been somewhat lacking, acting more like their young cousins than the adults that they were.

That said, adjusting to life post-operation-upgrade was pretty easy... for the most part. They had usually planned to head uphill to Five once a fortnight, though this was, as always, rescue-dependent, and as such sometimes the schedule slipped until they _had_ to go, which was on a once-monthly basis to resupply. No longer having to build that time into the plans had made things an awful lot easier for the maintenance schedules (Three required _a lot_ of work after every flight), and each of the girls had on their personal plans correspondingly more downtime – in theory. They’d get a little more shore-leave as a result in the near future, which was nice, but they’d been busy enough with rescues that the promised freedom hadn’t exactly eventuated.

Lizzie herself had hogged most of the off-island trips so far in the last few months – it would be good for the younger girls to get out a little more, and certainly more fair. She had one, maybe two more trips planned out, but after that there would have to be a bit of a break, just for fairness’ sake. Lydia had been making noises about her own plans, now that she was eighteen, and able to fly on her own. Kitty had mentioned a few things she wanted to do as well. Mary wasn’t usually keen to take breaks, being happy on the Island, but even she went somewhere twice a year to stock up on music and buy new lenses and other gadgets for her camera, and she was well overdue a trip. It would break the monotony of Island Life, and provide a bit of stress relief.

Jane herself was the surprising downside to Operation Upgrade.

Three rescues in a short time _was_ tiring, and tired people do make mistakes, but that wasn’t the only problem Jane had, it simply bought matters to a head. Jane had come very close to injury on their last trip, rescuing a group stuck on a mountain. She had slipped, sliding close to forty feet down the perilous slope before she had managed to arrest her fall, only just before a rather larger drop which could have resulted in some pretty serious damage if she’d gone over. They’d spent more time retrieving her than the actual group, which had not helped matters. Jane just wasn’t coping with the sheer physicality of their workload, Lizzie hated to admit, and she wasn’t dealing overly well with the emotional side of things either, being so soft hearted.

With her no longer being needed on Five, and with no stomach for dealing with the in-your-face reality of many of their rescue scenes, Lizzie knew Jane felt somewhat adrift. She _was_ trying - she had been an excellent secondary pilot on Two during the few rescues she had done, and had been a great help to Kitty with nursing duties when the number of casualties had been large with the cruise ship sinking that they’d dealt with. But _Five_ had been Jane’s primary job since IR had been launched, and she had devoted almost all of her efforts towards it for the last six years. She just wasn’t truly prepared to give it up or to join in rescues full-time and she just didn’t have the personality to help her through the changes that her life had undergone. 

Lizzie knew Papa wasn’t getting any younger and intended for one of the girls to follow him in the public business. When their father called them all in to discuss it, as he felt that it was up to all of them, it seemed a no-brainer. The younger girls disclaimed all interest in any responsibility at BI, and with Lizzie’s own role as IR’s field commander, it was eminently sensible that Jane take over in the money-making business that they depended on. The topic was canvassed a few times, and Lizzie reluctantly agreed with her father’s assessment that the time for it may as well be now. It would mean hands on time in L.A. for Jane, and that would be a few months of commitment as Jane learned, hands-on, the ins and outs of the business. She’d then spend at least one week a month managing the company, as their father did currently, from L.A..

Ironic, that in bringing Jane home, she’d be just as far away as ever. 

Their father knew about Charlie, to Jane’s surprise. Lizzie protested that it hadn’t been her that spilled the beans, and their father admitted that he had heard from Mrs. Lucas, likely via Charlotte. He didn’t necessarily disapprove, but he did admonish Jane to be careful. They’d limit meetings with the rest of the sisters, as Charlie was most likely to recognise Kitty or Lydia as he’d spoken with both far more extensively than Lizzie during the Sweetmeadow rescue. He’d not recognised Lizzie, but no need to risk anything. Otherwise, their father was quite content to see what happened since Jane liked him well enough. Jane’s blushes were quite something, but Lizzie declined to tease her.

Well, not too much.

Jane’s move was anticlimactic.

She took very little – Jane was used to not having much by way of clothing or other detritus, what she owned was quality, and she took care of it meticulously. Designers lined up to exhibit their garments on Jane’s perfect frame – but that kind of stuff was usually returned after use, and Jane’s personal collection was small. Packing for Jane meant one suitcase, one bag, and her favourite purse. She had a weakness for scarves and other accessories – the sisters all knew that an easy gift was a pretty bauble from their choice of holiday destination – and those took up half of the bag.

Lydia, in a rare show of sisterly concern, carried the case down to the plane. Kitty, outdone but not defeated, took the bag. Jane fussed over her sisters, her purse, her flightplans, the plane, her sisters again, the cousins, their aunts and uncles, their father, and the flightplans again before she could be persuaded to get into the jet. But then she was gone, though followed closely on the GPS tracker long after she had disappeared from sight.

In many ways, Lizzie reflected, after that first busy month was up, it wasn’t much different. They weren’t used to Jane’s presence, not really – if she was there it was a bonus. They still spoke at least every other day, though Jane didn’t call in every dinnertime, as it was near midnight L.A. time. Jane’s days were full of business meetings and site-visits and budgets and projections and plans. Lizzie’s were either on rescues, in the hangar, or on the beach.

Lizzie aside from the rest of the family, rarely saw other people unless it was at a rescue, while Jane was thoroughly enjoying being social and sociable. She’d been out with Charlie a few times, to Lizzie’s delight. And Jane, unsurprisingly had been cajoled by Charlotte into being a volunteer for the expanded PhoenixEdu programme. That was in full swing, juniors and the odd senior trying to find out what they wanted in life, and doing the rounds through various businesses to get ideas. Charlotte was heading this particular part of the program, which had started only a few months ago when school started back, yet they had been able to offer seventeen different tours, and two workshops.  Jane offered Bennet Industries, and personally supervised a couple of tours.

Lizzie’s next trip was work-related as well. She had travelled a lot this year, but almost all of it had been for BI, or for their father’s charities. That alone had prevented a mutiny by their youngest sisters, she told Jane the night before her planned departure. They were last-minute checking over their arrangements for everything that was happening in the next week. Lizzie would be helping out at BI for the mid-financial-year audit that their father usually did, but he had left it to Jane this year. Lizzie had participated last year, thus had at least some familiarity with the process, though it was to be Jane’s first go.

“It’ll be fine,” she told Jane, “It’s a lot of number crunching and paperwork, but once it’s over we’re going to have a much better idea about which of your grand plans we can afford.” 

Jane sighed, “Well, I will try and get you out for lunches – some will be business, but we can’t lock you away all day.”

“Surely there will be time in the evenings?”  
  
Jane’s blush was evident over the view screen. “Well, Charlie and I are going to this open lecture series by Professor Forster. The first one is tomorrow, they’re on geology! It’s free and there are still tickets!” 

“Oh, with Charlie, huh?” Lizzie grinned at her sister. It was good seeing Jane so happy, and if Charlie was a part of that happiness, Lizzie was more inclined to like him than ever. “You sure you want me tagging along? I wouldn’t want to get in the way.” 

Jane’s blush deepened. “It’s not a date Lizzie,” she admonished as much as Jane ever could, “There’s a couple of friends of Charlie’s going, and the program is arranging for someone to take three of the students, we’re just there as back-up chaperones.” 

“Who really needs a chaperone?” she teased.

Jane groaned, and dropped her head into her hands, “I could always rescind the invitation,” she muttered, muffled.

“Fine then, I’ll stop,” Lizzie smirked. “But it is nice seeing you happy, Jane.” She added, turning serious for a second.

Jane raised her head, blinking at the sudden change in her sister’s mood. She sighed, as if admitting that she was, indeed happier.

Thoughtfully, Lizzie brought up the weather for tomorrow. “It might be a nicer trip over if I left earlier, actually, so that will suit. I’ll give Gregory a call and see if they can fit the jet in earlier and I’ll change the flight plan. I’ve read some of Forster’s stuff on drilling, and it’s good, if a bit controversial as far as the underground living he’s a proponent of, and you know that thing about the  that Uncle used to design the Mole Could be an interesting evening if either one gets brought up. I can distract the friends if you want to talk with  _Charlie_  some more.” 

“Lizzie!” 

Lizzie clapped a hand over her mouth, “Sorry, I forgot that I wasn’t going to tease you about it anymore,” she apologised. “It’s just too tempting!”

“I’ll get you a ticket, but only if you promise not to say something too embarrassing around Charlie!”

“You’re the best of sisters, Jane,” Lizzie knew that she’d have to report on more than just the financial state of the company to her father when she returned, the thought, however, was pleasing. She genuinely liked Charlie, and it would be nice to get to know him better in a less formal (not to mention a less horrific) situation.

Jane beamed, “I’ll be so glad to see you in person, Lizzie! Oh, I have missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you more,” Lizzie replied. “And I’ll see you tomorrow,”

The trip over was miserable, and turbulent, with the mass of cloud, wind and rain that wasn’t quite a tropical storm still loitering between the Island and the American west coast. Flying over it avoided the worst, but it was still an uncomfortable trip. The cloud _finally_ broke to reveal the sea far below just off the coast. California was baking in the late autumn sun – they could have done with the rain – and Lizzie was happy to see sunshine.

Jane had messaged her that she wouldn’t be able to meet at the airport, but that was fine, and they’d make arrangements. Lizzie would grab the car, and enjoy the drive.

Casual was the order of the day, Jane said as Lizzie arrived in the apartment just in time to grab a quick snack, shower, and change. Charlie, to Lizzie’s approval, was to collect them. You could tell a lot about a guy from his car; was it flashy? Probably no good with money at their age. Clean and well looked after or untidy and dented? He probably looked after his house like he did his car. What did he keep in it? If it had a first aid kit, jumper leads, that kind of stuff, he was probably responsible.

Lizzie had once broken up with a guy in high school after she’d seen the state of his car. It hadn’t passed inspection, not with the rusted doors and the crack in the window. It had been full of old takeout wrappers, and a couple of empty bottles. The guy had driven off a cliff, completely drunk, a few years ago, leaving a trail of debts and two children – she figured she had got off light with just a couple of weeks of texting and one crappy date.

Charlie’s car was mid-everything, which tallied with Lizzie’s expectations. It was a midrange sedan model from a couple of years ago, relatively well taken care of with only a couple of scrapes on one bumper. It was tidy inside, but not obsessively cleaned and polished, and smelled a bit like generic air-freshener. No wrappers testifying to a take-out habit, but Charlie did have an excess of charger cables – unsurprising with two younger sisters, really.

He was a good driver too, although Lizzie would admit her might be trying to make a good impression. No speeding, no red-light-runners. He knew the way, and didn’t rely on GPS except for traffic info.

Lizzie could appreciate a man who could drive well.

They made excellent time to the campus, and parking was not a hassle due to the hour. Charlie opened the door for Jane and Lizzie both, handing Jane out, and receiving quite the smile in return.

Outside, they were quickly approached by a handful of people – Lizzie recognised Frank Denny and a few of the others from the Ball, and was somewhat dismayed to notice that Darcy was with them. Denny and his two friends (Lizzie hadn’t caught their names) were quite content to dump Darcy with them, and disappear off towards another acquaintance, that Lizzie was amused to note was female and very pretty. She could perfectly understand such desertion, as Darcy stood there awkwardly, and barely responded to their greetings – they probably couldn’t wait to get rid of him and his frowning disapproval. If only they could do the same, though it seemed as though Darcy intended to stick around as they headed inside to get seats.

The auditorium was large, seating four hundred or so. By the time they arrived, perhaps half the seats were full, and enough people milled around the doorways and in the atrium to near-fill the room. Forster was an excellent lecturer; he was a competent speaker, knowledgeable on his topic, which was controversial enough to attract “academic debate”, ie, hecklers, and quick enough to respond in kind when challenged, usually with hilarious result. Lizzie had attended only one of his presentations, but Uncle Gardiner had been to at least a dozen, and the heckling had become something of a trademark, and many lectures had become infamous for descending into comedic farce.

To Lizzie’s amusement, Charlie had insisted that Jane choose their seats, and once she had, Charlie helped her into her chair with alacrity. Darcy, by contrast, had broken his silence no shortage of remarks on the location and its shortcomings. The theatre was, however quite filled up and he had no choice but to take his seat. The look on his face as he noticed that the remaining seat by Charlie had been taken by one of the P.E. students was quite beyond Lizzie’s discernment, but he took the seat by her, leaning away into the opposite armrest as far as he might. Jane, on her other side, patted her hand in sympathy, but was quickly drawn back into conversation with Charlie. Lizzie could hardly begrudge her sister that.

The introduction by the Dean was punctuated by a single heckle from a scruffy undergrad, which was not taken well by the Dean, the audience, nor the scruffy’s friends, who firmly cuffed him into silence. Darcy’s disgusted scoff was rather over the top, Lizzie thought. She agreed _in principle_ that the interruption of the Dean was rude, but really it was not unexpected, and she couldn’t think why on earth Darcy thought he had any right to be personally offended over something that didn’t concern him.

Thus introduced, Forster’s early comments went uninterrupted, and much to Lizzie’s delight he had chosen to speak on underground mining of precious stones using automated drilling machines. It was a relatively new technique, used only where it was sufficiently economically viable and where surface damage was to be kept to a minimum. The machines used had some similarities to The Mole, except that the Mole burrowed through the ground, turning the earth to a paste which would be dumped behind its path, while the drillers would break up the earth into chunks which might be processed. Where people could be transported via the Mole’s interior compartment, instead that machine would scan and sort the material to retrieve the precious stones. It had seen some success recently with diamond mining in Africa – security of the mine-sites was a concern over there, but it was very easy to secure something that was underground and near-impossible to get to.

Forster made some excellent points about the design of such machines, which Lizzie made mental note of. Jane too, had offhandedly mentioned a few things during breaks in Forster’s speech – they were frequent enough as the odd shout from the audience got retorts and laughs.

Each heckle during the lecture only added to Darcy’s irritation, he tensed further with every outburst, until Lizzie thought he might snap in two. Lizzie though this lecture was rather less disrupted than the previous she had attended, and certainly if anyone looked up videos online they’d know this was a good session. The man really should have done his research. With luck, he’d not want to bother with the rest of the series and she’d not have to deal with his stares anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, Jane and Charlie sweetness!
> 
> Chapters Seven and Eight were originally a single chapter, but as it turns out, too much happens and I had to break it. I have aimed for 2.5-3k words per chapter and this one is already an unwieldy 3.2k, and nearly 6 with the addition of the next part! It might not be the best place to break things but none of the others seemed any better.
> 
> And always judge a guy (or girl) on how the car looks - because how they take care of that investment (which is usually not small!), will tell you a lot about how they'll take care of you :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! This has been on hiatus for more than a little while, but it is back now! The remaining story is completely planned out and is ~60% complete.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

“Dinner, ladies?” Charlie offered as they shrugged into their outerwear in the lobby. The weather outside had only got worse during the lecture as the rain mass Lizzie had flown through earlier made its arrival known, and it was looking rather nasty indeed. Lizzie pulled her coat about her shoulders, and looked to Jane to answer – this was _her_ thing after all.

Jane hmmed for a second, accepting Charlie’s help as he held her jacket so she might slip it on, stalling a moment as she thought. “I thought that you and your friends had something arranged,” she queried, worry in her blue eyes, “We wouldn’t want to intrude!”

Charlie sighed, shrugging expansively, “They’ve mostly abandoned me to go to that new club on the next block. It’s not my thing, and the weather is certainly not something I want to stand around in for an hour waiting in a line,” he replied. “It’s really only Darcy and I, and he’s rather horrible company by himself on a Saturday night when he has nothing to do.”

Jane blinked, looking to Lizzie, who nodded.

“Well, then,” Jane beamed at Charlie, who looked a little stunned for a second, before he beamed back in turn, “We’d be quite happy to!”

“Excellent,” Charlie cleared his throat, recalling himself, “We’ll just wait on Darcy then, shall we?”

Darcy approached, as if on command.

“Darce!” Charlie exclaimed, “We’re lucky enough to have gained the company of these two lovely ladies for the rest of the evening – it won’t be a problem to get them in for dinner with us I hope?”

Darcy’s slow blink spoke to the kind of volumes that Lydia would have been thrilled to succeed in emulating. Nevertheless, he did, much to Lizzie’s surprise, have sufficient manners as to accept their addition without fuss.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” he ground out, eyes flicking between the grinning Bingley and the quiet but rosy-cheeked Jane. “We are going to Ursine.”

The restaurant was not one that Lizzie had been to before, and Jane likewise declared herself to have never eaten there. Darcy, it seemed, was the only one who had.

Charlie capably drove them following Darcy’s directions, and Lizzie and Jane chatted quietly in the back seat about the lecture, with careful wording skirting around the exact nature family business and the applications they could see for the technology they had heard described.

The place Darcy had chosen to eat was just the kind of place that Lizzie supposed someone like Darcy would eat. It had a crisp industrial décor, all the surfaces polished stainless steel, white walls and crisp white tablecloths, ornate decorative ironwork pillars breaking the room into more private areas where millimeter-precise tableware graced small wrought-iron glass-topped tables.

The maître-d was obviously familiar with Darcy, and quickly ushered their party towards their table, set to the back of the restaurant – the place was full, but the hum of conversation and the chink of cutlery and plates strangely muted by the oppressing formality.

Jane slid into the seat that Charlie held out for her with another beaming smile, and Lizzie likewise accepted his help as he quickly stepped to her side in turn. The gentlemen seated themselves, Charlie inching his chair towards Jane, perhaps closer than was proper for such a stiffly formal place.

Darcy unbent sufficiently to provide several recommendations, which Lizzie would have to later admit were good ones, but he also took control of the wine list, and ordered  without reference to anyone else’s preferences. She had to admit that he was rather knowledgeable in his choices, but it would have been nice to be consulted – she didn’t typically drink reds, far preferring whites, as she knew Jane did as well.

The entrees were excellent, the wine _was_ rather good – and the service was impressively quick too. Despite Lizzie’s misgivings she found she was rather enjoying herself – certainly seeing Jane and Charlie enjoying their conversation was enough to make Lizzie glad she had come.

As they waited for their mains, the conversation turned to families – Jane, unbeknownst to Lizzie, had met Charlie’s younger twin sisters sometime during her stay in L.A., and she asked after them. Lizzie knew that they were rather close siblings, with a disinterested mother and a father who had absented himself over a decade ago. Carrie and Lou, as they preferred to be known, had taken something of a gap year between school and college to build up some funds, travel and have a good time. They were nineteen, not much older than Lydia, and they posted an awful lot on their joint Twitter (which Jane _had_ shown her some weeks before). It seemed as well that Jane had told Charlie rather a lot about the Bennet family, for Charlie was somewhat familiar with their history and the various personalities and quirks of the sisters. Jane wasn’t usually so chatty, Lizzie knew, which was quite unusual, and _very_ promising.

Darcy, of course, was a relative unknown to both Jane and Lizzie – they knew he had care of a younger sister (and Jane had heard so outside of the capacity of the family business) but that was about it.

“Ah,” said Lizzie, perfectly serious in tone and demeanor, “We know all about younger sisters, don’t we _Charlie_?”

“Indeed,” Charlie, repressing a grin, answered in kind, “The trouble that is younger sisters and their antics has been a well canvassed topic, isn’t that right, _Lizzie_?”

Darcy was looking between them, irritated, though Jane was smiling. Lizzie raised an eyebrow at Darcy, as if in challenge. Darcy frowned deeply, and answered her in magnificently pompous fashion. “My sister is a lovely young lady,” he began, “We have done our best to make sure she grows up into a well-rounded and productive member of society.”

Lizzie blinked, and flicked her eyes to Charlie, who had leaned back, eyes twinkling. Obviously the topic of younger sisters had been covered by _them_ before also, and Charlie was well familiar with it.

“Her education,” Darcy continued oblivious to the byplay, “Has been excellent, and she is attending one of the top schools. She gets excellent marks, of course, despite a challenging course load. I expect her to be accepted to several reputable colleges, we are filling in the applications currently. Georgiana speaks several languages, dances, sings and plays a number of instruments. Additionally, she rides competitively, and had been quite highly commended! I have no doubt she’ll be accepted to wherever she applies.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as Darcy finished his recitation, and Lizzie wasn’t quite sure what to say to it. Charlie was no help, he had coughed several times to hide a laugh during the spiel, and it seemed only barely had himself under control.

Jane was left to save the day, and she did, “She is seventeen, is she not?” she asked politely

“Not quite seventeen,” Darcy answered stiffly, having perhaps noticed that he had carried on a little too far.

“Oh, how lovely to have done so much, and still a teenager,” Jane said brightly. “Our youngest sister is not much older, she is eighteen.”

Darcy looked somewhat disgusted to have his saintly sister compared to loathsome Lydia –who did indeed have something of a reputation, though Darcy would of course have no idea that it was quite deliberate.

“The teen years can be rather trying,” Jane said diplomatically. Darcy’s expression changed to something more alarmed, and Jane rushed to reassure him, “Oh, you need not worry, I have never heard anything bad about your sister. Actually, Lou and Caro think rather highly of her, and from all reports I’ve had, she sounds like a lovely young lady.”

Lizzie supported this with a nod, “Yes, I have heard her mentioned her a few times,” she added, “and she does sound like an excellent young woman. I hesitate to say she is the best of sisters, for I have Jane, and she is most definitely the best sister.”

Jane blushed and demurred, “Lizzie, I’m not that good of a sister, after all I’m here in LA while the rest of you are at home!”

“Poor Jane,” Charlie teased, “In L.A., in this terrible weather while the rest of the family lounges by the pool on a private tropical island.”

Lizzie laughed as Jane protested this depiction, “Of course, Charlie, you must know that one’s tan is a very serious business!”

“Of course, Lizzie,” Charlie replied in kind, “Very serious.”

Darcy made an awkward half-cough sound which Lizzie could only attribute to his discomfort, and after a shared glance with both Jane and Charlie, the subject changed as their mains arrived.

It all went well enough, Lizzie supposed, and the food was very good. The desserts were truly excellent, though Darcy had given her a long look as he noticed her obvious enjoyment of the deliciously moist chocolaty confection that she had chosen to order.

The men between them insisted on paying the bill, and while Lizzie thought to protest, Jane’s own token effort at protest was answered so effectively by Bingley that Jane blushed her way into silence. “Indeed!” Bingley declared, “What price could be put on such excellent company?”

The ladies followed a little behind, both sneaking off to the bathrooms to refresh and touch up their faces. Not that Jane needed it, but Lizzie’s curls had the unfortunate tendency to frizz in anything resembling humidity.

“Excellent company?” Darcy was saying as they came up behind the men, “Taking things a little far _there_ , Bingley.”

Jane, who had paused slightly to adjust her purse, did not appear to hear his comment. Certainly she smiled at both men as sweetly as ever. Lizzie merely rolled her eyes internally, and vowed to avoid the man as much as she might in future. Certainly, she had little reason to expect to be in his company at all.

However, much to Lizzie’s surprise, Darcy accompanied them to the second lecture. To make things worse, Charlie’s so-called friends had _completely_ bailed, leaving them as the only attendees in their group, leaving Lizzie and Darcy to entertain each other when Jane and Charlie stopped noticing that anyone but the other existed.

Darcy didn’t appear to enjoy the second lecture any more than the first, nor did he have much to add as they got coffee afterwards. Nevertheless he announced that it would be quite rude to abandon them as well, before unleashing a spiel about reliability being an important trait. Lizzie hinted that he need not accompany them for the rest of the lectures, and that she was quite happy being a third-wheel-slash-chaperone. How odd it was, that he came to the third and the fourth? It was quite beyond explanation.

She posed the mystery to Charlotte when they spoke next (Charlotte had another visit to Bennet industries in mind, and was being far more blatant in her hints to Lizzie, than Lizzie had been to Darcy). Charlotte had laughed.

“Will Darcy?” Charlotte had said inquisitively. “ _The_ Will Darcy?”

“Hmm, yes,” Lizzie replied, distracted by Charlotte’s obvious knowledge of who Lizzie was talking about. “Have you met him?”

“Lord, no!” Charlotte huffed, “But I’ve only been trying for the last year! He’s the major shareholder for Pemberley Industries, which was his father’s company. They deal with all sorts of automotive and aerospace tech, and I’ve been desperate to get them on the list of supporting companies for P.E.!”

“Oh,” Lizzie said, blinking with surprise at Charlotte’s vehemence “I had no idea! I’m not sure I can arrange an introduction as he doesn’t seem to like me much, but he’s a friend of Charlie Bingley.”

“Arrgh,” Charlotte groaned, pained, “I get the feeling it would be _just like_ Charlie to forget to mention that he’s got a well-connected friends!”

Lizzie laughed. “He is a little scatterbrained, isn’t he?”

“His emails are atrocious,” Charlotte agreed, banging her head gently with a thick book in exaggerated frustration. “Urgh, nevermind, I’ll put it on the to-do list!”

“So!” she said, back to the conversation at hand, “ _that’s_ still going well then,” Charlotte added a theatrically suggestive eyebrow wiggle that made it quite clear she referred to Jane’s love life.

“As far as I know,” Lizzie answered honestly. “I like him. Jane certainly seems to as well.”

Charlotte smiled, “Well I’m glad _one_ of you took my advice,” she said, smugly. Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Nuh, uh!” Charlotte exclaimed, “I’ll have none of that Lizzie Bennet! Now, seriously, Jane should make sure she has him locked down. A man like that – funny, well connected, handsome, scatterbrained-but-cute-about-it, a bit rich! He’ll be a fine catch for any lady, and if Jane doesn’t get it official then someone else will!”

Lizzie threw up her hands comically – that Charlotte had not managed any more than a few brief flings put paid to any notion that her decidedly unromantic way of thinking was superior.

“Hmm,” said Charlotte thoughtfully, “Perhaps Darcy is in love with you!”

“Uuuurgh,” Lizzie didn’t even want to contemplate _that_ idea, “Charlotte, I think you might have hit your head a little hard just now!”

Charlotte, had however, seized onto this idea with vigour. “Well, he’s handsome, more than a bit rich, certainly intelligent… you should be after him!”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Just… no!”

“Not even for the kind of stories that would breathe some life into my cold, once-romantic heart?” Charlotte sighed dramatically, before the two of them broke into laughter. “Oh,” she said, once they had suitably composed themselves, “I sound like Maria. _She’d_ like Darcy!”

“She’d like any male under thirty who is good-looking, handsome and rich!”

“Mmmhmmm.” Charlotte agreed. “You definitely have competition! So when will you be _seeing_ him next?”

“He’ll probably be at this lecture, so I’ll bring the topic up, and see what I can do for you _about the program_ , Charlotte!”

“You’re the best,” Charlotte cheered, “Call me! Or I’ll call you,” she threatened. She would, Lizzie knew, and held up her hands in surrender.

“Excellent,” Charlotte said. “Now, you have a date…” Lizzie screwed up her face in disgust, “With destiny, my friend.” she added. “Go and get ready!”

It was an incredible irony, that after four nights of showing up unwanted, Darcy was not there the one night that she _did_ want to talk to him. She texted Charlotte during the lecture (it was not a good lecture at all), and the string of sadface emojis she got in return was comical. Nevertheless, she brought up the subject with Charlie over dinner. Charlie was apologetic over not recognising the potential benefits of Darcy’s involvement, and swore to get Darcy to buy into the scheme, and indeed, following Jane’s praise, and with a good deal of her assistance, sent off an email about it all. Lizzie happily provided Charlotte’s contact info as of course Charlie had lost it; and upon relaying the details to her friend, received in reply another emoji string, this time a riot of happy faces, hallelujah hands and animated party-poppers.

They parted that night with happiness on all sides – Lizzie was quite content about the future of her sister’s relationship. She had no qualms about leaving Jane to her own devices in LA – from the looks of things she wasn’t on her own by any stretch of the imagination.

The flight back to the Island was uneventful, and she had only good things to report to her remaining sisters, and to her father. Dinner might not have been as fancypants as Darcy might have appreciated, but the company was better by far than he was, and Lizzie coukd retire to her room happy.

She’d deliberately avoided looking up Darcy before now, aware of her father’s edict not to look up rescuees. But Darcy (and Charlie) fell into their own category entirely, and they were still trying to find the right way to navigate that danger.

Opening up Google, she typed in ‘William Darcy’. She quickly recognised her mistake, the majority of the results were for some heartthrob movie character from a period drama. ‘William Darcy Pemberley Industries’ had rather more success.

Success, however, was relative. The first two pages of hits were rather benign, a smattering of company pages and press releases making up the majority with a handful of smarmy tabloid “articles” comprising the rest. As expected, Lizzie thought, and if she searched her own name the results would be similar. Page three was somewhat more interesting – the fifty-fifth result was a long investigative piece from a British paper some ten years ago talking about the failure of Pemberley Industries’ UK subsidiaries and the reasons for it. The page linked through to another set of articles, mostly damning, about the Darcy family in particular, but about Pemberley and it’s directors in general.

The sixtieth hit was a blog post by a former employee, who had certainly spilled the beans. This GW had minutely detailed failures by Darcy snr. and jnr. over a number of posts as it happened. The author seemed to have no problem with the current company – Lizzie knew it was mostly run by an Edwin Matlock nowadays – but the posts about the Darcy’s was inevitably damning. The blog was updated sporadically with more details of PI’s corruption – in between posts about how the author continued to receive cease and desist notices...

2 am! Lizzie caught the time out of the corner of her eye, and blinked, eyes unsurprisingly gritty. Even with the timezones and jetlag it was past her bedtime.

Darcy, it seemed, was not at all worth knowing. Luckily, it was quite likely she would have little reason to have anything to do with him in the future.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, two chapters in a month! I must be doing okay. Oh, wait, it's procrastination from studying....
> 
> This chapter is not Beta-ed, so any mistakes please do let me know?

**Chapter Nine**

14 hours into the day, and they were onto their third rescue. Lizzie’s eyes and lungs were full of dust, and all she wanted was about twelve hours of sleep.

And a shower. Maybe a decent meal.

All of the above.

Nevertheless, she directed the Firefly to the next part of the building, where she’d shore up the wall so that her sisters could get into what little space there was left, in order to rescue the group underneath the fallen roof. It was, thankfully, the last group, and then they could go home.

Days like this didn’t happen very often, 3 rescues in a row. Lizzie couldn’t remember the last time, to be truthful. They had doubles more often to be sure. Sometimes it just did go that way, just as sometimes they could be a week between calls. The worst part was that there was no way of knowing, and there was no way to plan for it. Consequently, when they got swamped with work, it was  _exhausting._

The first rescue had been an early call out, to add insult to injury. About 3 am, island time, they had been woken by the howl of the alarm.

It was midday in Africa, where a regional airliner had crashed about half-way to its destination. They had been called in due to the remoteness of the crash location, and the relative lack of emergency services in Africa in general. The scene had been a relatively straightforward one – an engine had caught fire and the pilot had sensibly elected to land when the fire had looked close to beginning to travel through the wing. He had done a good job, setting the turbo-prop aircraft down in what amounted to the middle of nowhere. The fire had quickly spread through the rest of the airframe, but the landing had been sufficiently ‘gentle’ that the 27 passengers and crew had managed to escape with only minor injuries.

Really, they had an easy time of it, and Lizzie could hardly complain as she had done very little. Thunderbird Two had doused the fire, performed a triage, and picked up the people – and had even dropped them at their destination, though without bags or documentation. They’d spent less than three hours on a piece-of-cake rescue, and that was including their travel time.

The _second_ call had come whilst Two was offloading the plane crash victims. Lizzie had taken the information from Aunt Gardiner, reportedly, a school group were caught in the Rockies by a flash flood, cutting them off from the rest of their class in an increasingly tenuous situation.

Lizzie, in One, had diverted away from Two to assess the situation, as Mary was quite capable of wrapping things up on her own.

Arriving on scene some thirty minutes later, Lizzie found the group in a situation which was perhaps even more perilous than the reports had suggested. It was at times like this that Lizzie really missed Jane’s calm and her ability to wheedle details out of even the most panicked people, as she replayed the soundyte of her Aunt Gardiner speaking to one of the group who had just managed to find sketchy cell reception by climbing a tree.

The whole group consisted of nearly thirty eleven-and-twelve year olds, with four adults guiding them through a canyon walk for their environmental science class. Ten of the kids at the tail end of the group had been stranded with one of the adults in a U-bend in the canyon – those eleven were the cause of the rescue call.

Arriving on scene, Lizzie picked out the huddled group, who had water lapping at their heels, though the idiotic pair who were attempting something with a rope on the other side of the raging torrent came a close second. The rest of the kids were well out of the way with the remaining adult, and she dismissed them.

Lizzie could see the trail as it continued up the side walls of the canyon, and could guess where it crossed the bottom of the  ~~U~~  - and why they had been caught in the middle, on a slight rise. Water, muddy and filled with debris, raced around the outside of the U, cutting them off on three sides. On the fourth, the mound that had so far saved the group, turned into a steep cliff. Some of the kids had obviously tried to climb it, from the scrape marks and the debris that littered the tiny refuge they huddled on.

Sat-mapping and weather data wasn’t promising – upstream there was only more water coming. It’d be a close call.

“Thunderbird Two, this is Thunderbird One. What’s your ETA, Mary?”

“Standby, One,” Mary replied, before pausing. “Twenty-five minutes, Lizzie,” she came back with, “But we can probably get it down to twenty-three if we push the dodgy engine.”

Two had eight main engines, and number seven had always been unlucky for them, no matter how Uncle Gardiner tweaked this, or refitted that. He’d sacrificed many an hour (and many torn out hairs) in trying to fix the problem, but to no avail. All the ‘birds had their quirks, and this was one of Two’s. It had failed once before when pushed to over 95% capacity, so was usually throttled back to 90% while the rest of the engines picked up the slack. If they lost the engine entirely, it would delay Two by four or five minutes.

It didn’t really matter, Lizzie calculated, because they didn’t have the twenty-five to start with. One’s computers predicted that the water would rise to the level that would wash the group away in ten, twelve tops if they could hold on to something.

One was not exactly equipped to rescue people. It was a fast jet, designed to get places and provide on-site _assistance_ and planning. Most of One’s sleek fuselage was taken up by her engines and fuel tanks, and there was little by way of actual gear to be used. Lizzie thought through her options. One  _did_  have a few tricks – her winch could be used to lift things, although there was not enough power to lift this entire group, nor the space to put them in One’s cockpit. She didn’t have time for multiple trips.

One had an array of, well it wasn’t exactly armaments, as no government would allow them to operate  _armed_ , but there were CO2 rockets and liquid nitrogen canisters for fire suppression, thermite explosives to clear away obstacles, and a couple of dynamite bangers to trigger avalanches. None of that would be useful here – none of those things you wanted to use in close proximity to people. There was a pair of bracers not dissimilar to what they used in the firefly. She could use those to give the group a hand-hold, but it would buy only a few minutes. More promisingly, a stripped down version of the rescue lines which she could attach to the winch, but that wouldn’t take a group of this size. Three or four, maybe five given that these were kids.

_Think Lizzie, and quickly!_

Creating a dam upstream to allow for an escape became plan C, before being discarded as too risky. It would buy time, sure, but the debris-and-mud-filled canyon would be nearly impassable, and there was no way they’d be able to cross it. The water would quickly overrun the dam, and a breach would send a catastrophic wall of filthy mud and water down the canyon, washing them all away.

In the cockpit, there were few things which could be of use. The first aid kit would no doubt come in handy after the group were on dry land, but that was a secondary concern. She had a few harnesses – not enough – and some hand-held gadgets more suited for clearing buildings than plucking people from a canyon.

_Think!_

She could use the bracers to build the foundations for a zip-line, which would have the advantage of keeping the group out of the water if it came to that. There weren’t eleven harnesses stored away, but there were six, as well as the one she wore, which brought things down to two trips. It would take time, but the rescue lines were an option too.

_That was it!_

Plan D, which combined plans A and B, would have to be it.

Setting One to hover over the canyon, she targeted the first pair of bracers into the most stable, but accessible part of the cliff some two metres above the stranded group.

As One’s under-nose bay opened, Lizzie thumbed the loudspeaker. “Everybody duck, hands on heads!” she ordered. The group hurried to obey, and Lizzie fired. The second shot was just as tidy, smacking into the cliff on the other side of the canyon, drilling into the rock.

She’d have to rely on the group to get the harnesses on themselves, she decided. There wasn’t time for her to baby them through it. She set the targeter up last, before hurriedly unclipping from her seat. Passing the instructions for the group was easy enough routed through her helmet mic into the loudspeaker.

“You sir, divide the children into two groups!” she explained, “You and half the kids will go on the cable, the other half will be picked up by rescue lines from Thunderbird One! Strongest children need to go on the cable, you’ll be pulling yourself across the canyon at least part of the way!”

As quickly as she could, grabbed the harnesses, and clipped herself to the winch. One’s computer chirped through its updated estimate of how much time she had – eleven minutes.

She spooled out the line, stopping a few feet above the group. Panicky people got grabby, and kids were the worst, especially the young ones who couldn’t be reasoned with. “The group on the cable get the harnesses.” She ordered, handing them down carefully. They had, at least made decisions on who went where. “You,” she said, pointing to the adult, “Check them all over, see that they’re tight enough. I’ll set up the cable!”

She directed One to the other side of the canyon using her wrist computer, carefully, as she dangled beneath it. Reaching the other side, the two idiots with the rope had abandoned their efforts, and they steadied her as she set down onto the rocky path.

Lizzie unclipped from the end of the winch, and pointed at the fitter looking of the two men, “You, I need you to take this carabiner, and pull out the cable when I tell you. It will run freely, so just head up the hill, on my mark.” She handed him the carabiner, which would at least stop the cable from making a mess of his hands, and pointed at a straggly bush about half way up the slope. “Let go once you get it that far.” The distance seemed about right, half the span as the canyon was wide.

“Yes ma’am,” the guy said, vibrating with the need to be doing something, and relieved he’d get the chance. He was mid-thirties, slightly grey amongst his dark hair, Lizzie thought. Maybe old enough to be a parent, as he didn’t look like a teacher. Whatever look teachers were supposed to have. Still, he was observant enough to peg her as female, which was sufficiently unusual to give Lizzie pause.

“You,” she said to the other man, “Can give me a boost!” She led him to the bracer, this one was closer to the ground to give something of an incline to the line. Still, it was a little too far for Lizzie to reach. This man, stockier, leaned his back into the rockwall, bending his knees, and cupping his hands. Delicately, Lizzie stepped into the proffered hold, reaching up to clip the winch to the bracer. She tugged it twice to check the set-up, they’d never had a problem before but there was always a first time.

Satisfied, she stepped down, thanking the man for his help. “Will it hold?” he asked, worried. This one was definitely a parent, she thought.

“Of course,” she replied, “The cables are designed to hold back entire cliff-faces, and the winchline will carry a truck. A half-dozen half-pints is no trouble.” Her effort at a joke got a weak smile. She hooked a second spare carabiner onto the line, so between her and her runner, she’d have enough free cable.

“Alright, start running!” she hollered at the other man, who took off up the hill as if several lives depended on it, which they did. One’s timer chirped in to tell her that she had seven minutes. The kids better be in their harnesses, because they were gonna cut this one fine.

The runner reached the tree in less than thirty seconds, to Lizzie’s surprise, he must be incredibly fit. Though she could see him drop the cable, slumping to the ground, concerning them both. “Go check he’s okay? If he is, both of you need to come back here and help the kids up the last part of the cable. Stay really clear of the line, it’s going to be moving,” Lizzie ordered the man still with her, as she reattached her harness to the cable line using a spare clamp. This she’d have to get right, as it would take the weight on the other end of the cable. The clamp locked tight, but not so tight as to cut into and weaken the cable. _Got it._

Her companion was making his way up the slope rather more slowly, she noted, as she turned to her wrist computer. This would be delicate – she had a lot of free line sitting here and she couldn’t risk it getting snagged or trapped. She’d have to lift in a delicate arc, using both One’s thrusters and the winch line.

Six minutes. Lizzie gave her set up a quick once over. She had five rescue lines for five kids, she had enough line pulled out for a make-shift flying-fox, and bracers to anchor each end. Now it was just getting the ones on the line (and herself!) out of the way enough for One to fire off the rescue lines.

Lizzie lifted herself off the group carefully, directing One up and then gently across the canyon. The line began to lift with her, stretching out across the muddy torrent to bridge the gap. Her eyeballed guestimate was spot on, Lizzie noted with relief.

She lowered herself towards the group, now ankle deep in water. They had sorted themselves out, the half in harnesses to one side; and the smaller group, consisting of the smallest boy and four girls to the other. The harnesses looked decent enough, though she would have to check carefully.

“Those clips on the front of your harness, kids. I want you to hold them up with both hands,” she ordered.  Reaching the bracer, Lizzie pulled the line as tight as she could, and clamped it to the bracer. The line stretched out across the canyon, ready for the group, and Lizzie could direct One a little closer, and use the free line that still connected her to ‘One to manoeuvre.

Lizzie looped an arm around the bracer, and shifted her own clamp by a few feet, then extricated herself, and let One gently lower her enough to grab the kids, but also to put them on the line. She, along with the other adult, would have to get the kids up the two metres just by lifting. “Okay, we’re gonna lift you up onto the cable. You’re gonna go across to the other side.”

Four minutes. This was too close.

The adult had anticipated her and was lifting the first child already. Reaching down, she heaved the child up with one arm, and took the clip with her other hand, attaching it to the line.

Moment of truth.

“It’s okay,” she reassured the terrified child, and gave him a push. He screamed his way across the line, but he was out of the way, and out of danger.

The next child was ready as she looked down, and so they heaved him up, then the third and the fourth in quick succession. The fifth panicked as he was lifted, so the adult set him down to speak firmly to him and get a better grip. Lizzie eyed the other kids still trapped, now calf-deep and holding the cliff in desperation. Her group on the line had organised themselves and were beginning to pull themselves out of the bottom of the slack towards the other side where the two other adults waited.

The fifth child was lifted again, and Lizzie firmly clipped him onto the line, shoving him out across the canyon. Carefully, she twisted, reaching an arm down to the adult and bracing herself . “You’ll have to jump”, she yelled out over the noise of One’s engines and the raging water.

Nodding, the man grabbed his own clip with one hand, before leaping into the air, pushing of the cliff face with one foot for a bit of extra height. Lizzie caught at his harness as he met her and rolled, pushing him up towards the line. The man caught it with his free hand, and slammed the open clip onto the line with the other. Lizzie released him, their eyes met, and the man pushed out to join half of his charges. Understood in that split second glance, was that the remaining five were her responsibility now.

At knee depth, it was nearly impossible to stand against running water. They were at knee depth, and only by desperately grasping on to the cliff were the remaining group still standing. Lizzie directed One out across the water for a better firing solution, targeted the group, and fired.

Five good hits.

And another delicate operation. She couldn’t cut the cable line, so she’d have to unclamp it, and lift everything to get the group on Rescue lines out of the way of the water. One manoeuvred gently back to overhead in preparation, and she looked but they hadn’t all managed to cross the water yet – the first two had made it and had unhooked, so she couldn’t yet. Unclamping the line at this angle would jerk her group upwards but it would dump the remaining four into the water.

“Just another minute,” she yelled down at the group below her. They wouldn’t wash away, but the risk of being his with debris was a real threat.

Two more off the cable. Number five child was still being a pain in the ass, though the adult chivvied him along – they hadn’t quite cleared the water and were still ten metres or so from the cliff face. They were over a slightly protected spot, an eddy behind a boulder unlikely to be more than half a metre deep.  If any of the kids slipped, she might have to dump them both into it...

Debris!

One’s sensors picked up a tree – an _entire tree_ by the look of it, just 150m upstream. Shit.

Lizzie yanked on the clamp, and jabbed her watch.

The cable released, and she flew skywards, the group below her leaping into the air as One’s VTOL engines lifted her skywards by 15 metres.

Not a moment too soon, as a tree root caught on a rock on the far side, rotating the entire trunk, sending the top of the tree towards where they had been just moments ago.

Breathing deeply, Lizzie looked down at her small huddle of kids on the Rescue lines – they were all accounted for. Number Five and the Adult had taken a bit of a fall, perhaps a metre and a half, but they were up and moving away from the, assisted by the other two. The remaining five kids had made their way to the top of the canyon wall, and were hunkered down with their classmates.

One gently dropped them down towards safe ground, setting the kids down, then Lizzie, who ordered the rescue lines to disengage. The nanofibre network that made up the mesh harness oozed back into the tipheads of the lines, releasing the kids who were wet and muddy, but otherwise unharmed.

They’d likely have bruises from their abrupt lift, Lizzie advised the adults, and would need to be checked for hypothermia. Likewise, Number Five, who was blubbering, and the Adult with him looked to be okay after their abrupt dunking, would probably need to be checked out.

Two’s familiar roar sounded in the distance. Aunt Gardiner and Mary had arranged to collect the group and deposit them at the nearest hospital able to cope with thirty middle schoolers.

“Alright, Lizzie?” Kitty asked over their comms, as Mary delicately orbited Two over the site to avoid One, before simultaneously lowering the pod and setting the giant craft down. Lizzie could see her two youngest sisters, standing in the opening of the pod.

“I’ve had better days,” Lizzie replied with heavy irony, “Cut it a little fine there and scraped though on luck rather than anything else.”

“Well _I_ thought that was awesome,” said Lydia, “We were watching over One’s cameras. I was totally waiting for somebody to get dunked. Pity it wasn’t you!”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. Kitty had things well in hand, so Lizzie turned back to unhook the clip from this side of the river’s bracer. She’d leave the bracer’s themselves – it was rarely worth the effort to dig them out of a rockface.

Two took off, and Lizzie attached herself to the end of the cable, this time to winch herself back into the cockpit.

The debrief for this rescue would suck.

For a blessed minute, Lizzie was on the approach to land back at Bennet Island, when her Aunt Gardiner’s voice crackled over the radio. “Girls, a situation has developed in Indonesia, a building collapse. They’re on radio now, do we tell them you’ll be there?”

Lizzie let her head thunk down onto One’s dash, groaning quietly to herself. Well, duty calls. “What do the rest of you say,” Lizzie queried. “Can you handle another one?”

There was a silence for a few seconds as they digested. “We’ve been out for, what, four and half hours so far?” Lydia said exasperatedly, “We’ll be _fine_.”

Her more experienced sisters took a little longer to consider. “I’d like to swap out equipment,” said Kitty from Two’s belly, “But I think we’ll be fine to go on.” Mary agreed from Two’s cockpit that both she and her ship were capable.

“It does look like a big job,” their aunt further added, “A few hundred people in a factory-type environment.”

 _Great_ , thought Lizzie. But her sisters had agreed. “We’ll do it, Aunt.”

“Would you recommend the Firefly or the Mole,” Kitty asked a few seconds later, as they looked over the information that had been forwarded on to their HUDs and wrist computers. “We’ve got the Firefly on board, but then if the Mole’s better, we’ll probably be better off taking a little longer. We’ll need the digger packs, aunt, if you and Uncle can have them ready to go.”

“Keep the Firefly, I think. Your uncle’s in the hangar already getting the minipod sorted.” Aunt Gardiner replied, “We will both join you on this one, give you a chance to rest on the flight over and have a bite to eat, though we’ll stay off the ground.”

“Dump the fire gear in its minipod,” Their Aunt Phillips chimed in, “I’ll take care of it. There’s food to go. As well, I’ll have that in the ‘pod. Sorry, Lizzie, nothing for you.”

“That’s fine,” Lizzie had already peeled off to head towards the accident zone. “I’ll grab a ration pack, it’ll be fine.”

Surveying the scene some twenty one minutes later, and feeding that data back to her sisters in Two and the family on Bennet Island, Lizzie munched on a muesli bar.

“Two, what’s your ETA?” she asked.

“Thirty three minutes, One,” came the reply. “There’s not a lot of building left, is there.”

That was an understatement. A three floor textiles factory had collapsed in on itself. Hundreds of people had likely been inside, and many hundreds more thronged around what was left of the building. Some had clearly managed to extricate themselves, or be dug out, judging by the layers of dust caked on skin.

It took them nine hours to free all the remaining survivors – IR did not usually do recovery operations in this kind of circumstance, preferring to leave it to local authorities. They had, nevertheless, recovered sixty dead, and another dozen severely wounded. The death toll would rise significantly. Even Lydia had been unable to keep up her typical ebullient behaviour in the face of so many dead, some of them younger than she was.

The dust was incredible – likely due to cheap, substandard concrete used – and it would be days before it cleared her lungs. Yes, Lizzie reflected, as she drove the firefly back into the pod, rescues like this sucked. They were exhausting.

And she desperately needed a shower.


End file.
